Nancy Drew and the Curse of the Black Lake
by HeadIntheCloudsForever
Summary: An AU to my other ND stories. A quiet vacation quickly takes a sour turn when a series of unfortunate accidents begin to occur in Maine, where eighteen-year-old Nancy Drew was set to enjoy a peaceful vacation in the wilderness after a series of personal issues following a misunderstanding began to test her relationship with Ned Nickerson.
1. An Unfortunate Accident

_To Whomever Receives This Bottle:_

_I never expected that I would be lost and forgotten to the world. I suppose I write this hoping that perhaps you will remember this note sometime after you finish reading it, and in that way, my memory lives on. Somehow, that should be enough. Now, listen closely, if you've found this bottle it means that even though it has been tossed to and fro by the waves perhaps pulled by the undertow and cracked against the rocky reef, it still found you. With all that said, life may break you, but know you are too strong to shatter. Your journey is your own. Do not be afraid if it's perilous. Take heart. Face your worries for they will be too afraid to face you. Ride the currents, do not let them control you. Listen to your heart for it is more than just a beat._

_The one you seek will find you when you least expect it, and they will give back what your journey has taken away. Your boat, your guide: you chart your course, not anyone else. Take responsibility for your faults, but do not apologize for them: they are what make you human. Dwell not on your mistakes, because your mistakes will sail you on the greatest adventures. This is Captain James Baycroft, writing what is to be my last letter before my execution for a crime I did not commit, but if I am to die at dawn tomorrow, I hope that whoever reads this now will think no less of me for it, the wrongs I have committed throughout my life. May God bless me when I meet Him._

_James Lucien Baycroft,_

_Captain of The Dawn Splitter._

Amateur sleuth Nancy Drew looked up from reading the letter, her heart strings giving a gentle tug at the somber letter she had just read. The eighteen-year-old detective, without a word, carefully placed the letter back in the bottle she had removed it from, clutching it tightly in her hands and turned to her companion, one of her father's colleagues, a history professor at Northwestern University over in Evanston, a few hours' drive from rural town of River Heights, Illinois.

Dr. Elizabeth Halstead had accompanied her to North Carolina.

Nancy Drew, at eighteen-year-old, was a beautiful young woman with smooth, dry skin. Her eyebrows curved in swooping arcs over her blue eyes and her small slender nose complemented her forehead. But it was her eyes that everyone commented on the most. The young detective's eyes were like the stars, the way her eyes drew strangers in to explore the swirling emotion held in the amateur sleuth's eyes. The black of her pupil was surrounded by a ring of jagged silver fire swallowed by sapphire blue. At one glance, Nancy's eyes merely shone, but if you dared to look closer, you could clearly see the sadness of heartbreak, the joy of love, the hope of the future, pain of sorrow, and the fire of a fierce spirit full of passion that would never give up.

Nancy's blue eyes shifted to the side again and became glazed with a glassy layer of tears. As she blinked briny tears away and flicked them gone with a practiced flip of her finger, a few still managed to drip from her eyelids and slid down her cheeks. She bit her lip tightly to hide any sound that wanted to escape from her mouth. Her heart sank as her mind mulled over the words of the disgraced sea captain's last letter. James Lucien Baycroft had been a man who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, sentenced to death for a crime of which he was innocent. Her lower lip quivered as words slowly made their way out of her mouth. "They're…" Nancy began, yet what followed was engulfed in the tremors. "Why?" she asked.

Dr. Elizabeth Halstead at age thirty-five eyed the detective with a cautious but admiring eye. "This affects you, Miss Drew. I can see it." The history professor let out a sigh as the salty breeze around them blew out her blonde tresses. The professor loved the wind, it called to both women, whispering things big and small. She gazed upward at the now-abandoned lighthouse and a shudder went down her back. The lighthouse and former home of the disgraced captain was isolated from the mainland. It was a tall tower of white with a single red band near the top and narrow windows. It was built on a great rock made coarser by the barnacles that clung to its weathered surface. Years of salty air had reduced the once gaily painted walls to a pitted gray and red, like nail varnish worn mostly off. Nancy reached out a gentle hand to touch the walls, feeling both the roughness and the softness of what little paint remained. With each breath she inhaled, she could taste the brine in the air and close by the ocean pounded rocks as if it wished to scatter them around. The young detective noticed the history professor shiver again.

Whether it was from the chill of the late September air or the creepiness of the abandoned lighthouse, Nancy Drew did not know. Stifling a chuckle back, Nancy tossed her shoulder-length auburn hair over her shoulders, brushing her hands on the skirts of her black skinny jeans and checking the zippers on her boots, making sure they were intact, as sometimes they had a habit of coming undone. "Aren't you coming in?" Nancy asked, pushing open the battered, beaten door with a gentle shove, her flashlight in her right arm.

Elizabeth chuckled nervously, tossing her hair over her shoulder, her foot tapping nervously. "Uh, no," she mumbled, her green eyes darting every which direction. "I'd prefer to stay out here, Miss Drew."

"Why?" called out Nancy, not bothering to wait for the history professor. She coughed, raising a hand to shield herself from the cobwebs and immense amount of dust that had gathered there. "It's so…warm and inviting in here!" Nancy shouted dryly, her tone dripping with sarcasm. _Dr. Halstead is being a bit of a wimp. So far there's nothing in this old lighthouse to suggest ghost activity_, she thought, but dare not speak it out loud. The doctor had been courteous to her thus far, taking her as far as the location of Captain James Baycroft himself. This lighthouse. Nancy winced as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, the only source of light coming from her flashlight. There wasn't a lot of room inside, just an old creaky spiral staircase that dominated the lighthouse. The breeze smelled heavily of saltwater, the seagulls overhead outside screeching and cawing obscenities. "Is there something about this lighthouse that's haunted?" asked Nancy, shining her flashlight, her tone only slightly teasing as she waited for the history professor to respond to her question. "You told me that Captain James Baycroft was a bit of a pious sea captain? What exactly was he convicted of?"

"Murder," came Dr. Halstead's timid voice from the other side of the door. "Accused of murdering several women, all around the ages of sixteen." The bitterness and fear in her voice was unmistakable to her.

Nancy did her best to swallow the angry retort forming in the back of her throat. "Was it ever proven that he was guilty of such atrocities?"

"No," sighed the professor as she shifted to the other foot. "And that's the problem! Your father thinks if we can find his journal, which is supposedly somewhere up there," and it was here that the young detective imagined Dr. Halstead pointing a finger up to the top of the lighthouse, "that we can at least attempt to clear his name, after all this time. It's been well over a hundred years since the man's death."

"And you didn't follow me in here _because_…?" Nancy prodded gently.

"Well, er…" There was a long pause. A beat. "The lighthouse is said to be haunted. The ghost of his spirit is said to torment the lighthouse, and any that dare to venture beyond the front steps, doesn't come out."

Nancy rolled her eyes, shifting her flashlight to her other hand.

"Ghosts, huh?" sighed Nancy. "I can't say that I believe in ghosts, but I—" Her voice trailed off as she heard a sound from upstairs. "Hold that thought, Dr. Halstead. I—I thought I heard something! I want to go investigate," she called out, taking a second to dump her black nylon purse that she used whenever she went on vacation or out of town by the front door. "Here, hold my bag for me, will you? I won't be long, and then you and I can grab a bite to eat after we take this back to the—"

"I'm not coming in there!" snapped Dr. Halstead hotly. "Oh, please do be careful, Miss Drew, your father will absolutely kill me if I let—"

"I promise I'll be careful," sighed Nancy exasperatedly, plunking her bag by the front door regardless, taking great care to take the rickety old staircase one step at a time. The air smelt as if it hadn't moved in years, festering like a stagnant pool of dirty water, and for all she knew of this place, it had. Nancy shone her beam at the stairwell as she ascended, the only movement being the dust her black boots had dislodged. Aside from an errant shaft of daylight that had burst through a crack in a boarded-up window once she reached the top, it was the only light, as well as the late afternoon light that streamed in from the old lighthouse. The local gossips in town when Nancy had first arrived in North Carolina say that before he was caught and arrested for his crimes, Old James Baycroft had lost his patience and gutted a girl with a hook. At least, that's how the stories went.

Legend said that the girl's ghost in the lighthouse won't come out unless the door closes, so Nancy gingerly pushed it shut and turned off her beam. Her smile no more than a nervous grin, though she began to feel the briefest flickers of fear prick at her heart. Click. The door behind her suddenly locked and suddenly, the top of the lighthouse almost seemed to distort, but just as quickly as it had come, it was gone. At first, the apparition was no more than a chill in the air.

A shimmer of mist, diffuse. It wasn't until Nancy adjusted her stance just slightly that it congealed into a more solid form, a small little child, a girl, surely no older than the age of seven years old, with brilliant white eyes, a silver skin, and the smile of a fierce predator.

Her clothes were odd, an old-fashioned Victorian style dress, and from one hand dangled a kite, ribbons and all. For a moment, all was silent, then the telltale click of the door locking. Nancy froze in shock.

She could hear music now. "Oranges and Lemons say the bells of St. Clements…" Nancy knew how that one ended. She took a step backwards towards the door, intending to head back down the stairwell. Then the…ghoul spoke, though she was not certain that what she was currently witnessing was real. There had to be a logical explanation. The child spoke and not with the voice of a little girl, but with the raspy tones of an old fifty-a-day-smoker. "Have you come to play?" Her grin baring teeth become a full-on snarl, like that of a wolf, and she drifted closer towards the amateur sleuth without ever taking a single step. Nancy opened her mouth to scream and call out for Dr. Halstead, but all that came out was a rasping laugh from the entity.

The little girl's face was the last thing Nancy saw before her world went black. She felt her foot give way on something and she cried out as she realized she was most likely plummeting to certain death as she fell down the stairwell of the lighthouse. The surroundings around her rushed by in a blur, and Nancy knew the pain was coming. It goes by fast, yet slow, almost suspended. Then the impact as she hit bottom.

She felt the bones in her left foot move in a way they shouldn't, jangled. Without even looking, she knew there was blood seeping from skin that only seconds ago was smooth. Nancy did not dare move—anything to delay the part where she took in what she looked like now.

Torn and dirty skin, a broken ankle, given the immense pain that shot a throbbing burning sensation up her entire leg, and the way the appendage seemed to be giving off an immense heat. Whether a blessing or a curse, Nancy felt her eyelids grow heavy as she reached for the darkness that seemed to come in ebbs and flow, taunting her.

Nancy Drew knew she would faint when her stomach would give out. It felt like her innards were being replaced by some kind of black hole. Then nausea crept from her abdomen to her head and the lighthouse around her went black, the last thing she heard was the muffled, distorting shouting of Dr. Elizabeth Halstead nearby.


	2. His Decision

Searing fiery pain seemed to pulsate up her ankle. It was the first thing that woke Nancy from her agitated sleep, not the voices, not the strange beeping of an unfamiliar machine. The young detective lay there quietly, keeping her eyes closed. The sensation of something shoved up her nostrils told her someone, likely the attending nurse had shoved a nasal cannula up her passageways. Someone, probably Dr. Halstead had taken her to a hospital, but to which one?

She did her best to match her breathing to the beeping of the machines that surrounded the bed, the only indications of her heartbeat, her existence. Her foot was heavily bandaged in a thick cast, eventually, when she could walk again, she would get one of those bulky black boots, but not for a while. Her auburn hair was splayed out on either side of her like a fan as she gingerly lifted her head and tried to regulate her breathing, fighting back the nausea.

Her legs were numb. "Morphine?" she mumbled groggily, as curiosity slowly pride open her eyes to meet a dismal room of a magnolia colored hospital room, the door a deep navy blue. Nancy frowned, a scowl on her face. "It's locked," she grumbled under her breath. This was to keep her locked away in here, not the others out. She slid her eyes sideways. Beyond the bed was her chart, revealing she had hit her head when she fell. Her head throbbed. The pain felt like someone had taken a knife to her skull. She leaned her head against the stiff pillow. Squeezing her eyes shut, she willed the pain to leave.

The rest of the world became detached. All she could concentrate on was the pain rooted deep in her head. She could barely hear the people chattering around her. All she felt, all she knew was the pain of that moment. Her headache.

"Hey, Nance!" a man's voice spoke up from beside her, startling her. She turned guiltily from her perch on the bed, not expecting to see anyone.

"Frank!" Nancy breathed, not expecting to see the elder Hardy brother by her hospital bedside, but also relieved. "When—when did you get here?" she groaned, holding a hand to her forehead as she sat up straighter, taking a second to fluff and prop the pillows.

"About an hour ago. Dr. Halstead called me saying you had fallen down a flight of stairs and broke your ankle, so Joe and I got a red eye flight and got here as fast as we could," he responded, concern laced in his voice. Frank Hardy was handsome from the depth of his eyes to the gentle expressions of his voice. He was handsome from the generous opinions to the touch of his hand on her own. Nancy loved the way his voice would quicken when he sparked with a new idea or was so enjoying one of hers that he would lose himself for a moment and quite forgot the mask he wore for others. Were she not in a relationship with Ned, she would have given Frank her heart and kept his safe, if Frank had come first. But Ned had asked her out first before Frank could, so Nancy had dated Ned Nickerson for the better part of almost two years, though they had had their different and arguments, some of which had almost led to a permanent breakup. But Frank…he was always there.

Frank had tousled dark brown hair, which was thick and lustrous. His eyes were a deep brilliant brown, like the boughs of an old oak tree after a rainfall. His face was strong and defined, his features molded from granite. He had dark eyebrows, which sloped downwards in a serious expression. His usually playful smile had drawn into a hard line across his handsome face. One of his hands, slightly rough from working, held hers, careful to be mindful of the IV.

Nancy suddenly felt guilty. "Have you…been sitting with me the entire time I've been asleep?" she asked, noticing the light blush that speckled across his cheeks. She could not help but smile a little at that.

Frank's smile etched its way back into his face. His body was warm and toned as he pulled her close for a gentle hug, taking great care to be mindful of her injuries. "I wouldn't be anywhere else, Nance."

His hug was comforting to the touch, Frank's voice was deep with a serious tone. His lips gently brushed the shell of her ear as he whispered into her ear.

"I'm glad you're okay, Nan. I don't know if I…" His voice trailed off and he jumped back from her as though the young detective had burned his hands.

Annoyed by the sudden departure, Nancy turned to gaze at whatever Frank was looking at and froze.

Her long-time boyfriend, Ned Nickerson, stood in the doorway, a couple bars of her favorite chocolate, Koko Kringles, in his hands, and a small white stuffed teddy bear in his arms, no doubt from the hospital's gift shop on the lower floor. His light brown hair was tousled, no doubt from the wind outside. Nancy thought he was looking effortlessly handsome in a simple black sweater and jeans.

Nancy Drew observed Ned's sharp jaw, chin, and cheekbones. On either side of his straight nose were two blazing hazel eyes. Spiked, warm brown fringed with smooth green. His dark brows were graceful, but currently furrowed in a frown. All of it was framed by thick, warm dark chocolate curls.

It was the expression on her boyfriend's face that worried her, however, though it was not directed at her. He was glowering at Frank Hardy. He was…

"Angry," whispered Nancy hoarsely, not realizing how dry her throat was. "Ned," she called out.

His gaze drifted to his girlfriend's form in the hospital bed, and just for a moment, his expression softened slightly. "Nance," he said formally, his tone clipped and hard, though his gaze never wavered far from Frank. "I see you already have someone keeping you company," he growled, setting down the teddy bear and the chocolate bars he'd brought on the hospital bed's night table. "Frank, get out. Now."

Frank bristled under Ned's words and stood. He glanced back towards Nancy's bed-ridden form and, upon seeing her give a tiny curt nod, sighed in defeat.

"Fine," he snapped coldly. His dark eyes glinted as he glanced back to Nancy, shooting her a sad, little smile. "I'll be right outside if you need me, Nance."

Nancy nodded, having eyes only for Ned Nickerson as the door gingerly shut closed behind him. Ned took a seat across from Nancy's bedside, almost seeming to collapse into it rather than take a seat.

"Ned…" she began slowly, but her voice trailed off, as she was unsure of how to respond to what happened.

"No," he answered for her, his tone hard and rigid. "You do not need to explain yourself to me, Nancy Drew. There's no need to justify it. I see things now."

Ned's words fell out of his mouth like vapor but landed in Nancy's guts like shrapnel. She felt her insides tear, and the blood drain from her already pale face. She would laugh at him, but he is deadly serious. His dark eyes were cold like she'd never seen before, and his features immobile as he studied her.

He looked like someone about to vomit. He stood, brushing his hands on the seat of his jeans. Nancy struggled to find her voice but found that she had not the right words to speak what was on her mind.

"Wh…what are you saying, Ned? You—you don't mean that!" the young detective pleaded, tears welling in her eyes. "You _cannot_ do this, Ned!"

Nancy tried to understand the words he was telling her, but she just couldn't. He loves her, he had to, to put up with Nancy and her constant breaks for so long, given how often she was away on vacation or solving a case, and to be honest, she thought Ned was the only one that ever has loved her, aside from Carson Drew, her father. Then he turned to go, his shoulders sunken and his hands in his pockets.

It was over. Well and truly over, after almost two years of steadily dating. Before Nancy could fathom what she was doing, she bolted out of her hospital bed, almost accidentally ripping the IV from her hand. She stood in his way of the door, locking eyes with her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, pleading him not to. The two stood the perfect distance for a kiss, but Ned shook his head no. Nancy could see her pain mirrored in Ned's dark eyes. This stunk of duty.

Ned had always said that he would persuade his parents, socialites Helen and Robert, when the time came that Nancy was worth the effort, but she guessed they had won after all. And, she had a deeper feeling this went even deeper than his own parents.

It was no secret to her, Bess, or George, that Ned had always harbored some sort of resentment towards Frank, no matter how many times Nancy had to persuade that they were just friends—nothing more.

"You're kidding, right?" Nancy asked, her voice shaking as her eyes met his for what was to be the last time.

"No, Nancy. It's over." Ned slowly turned away, trying to hide the sadness and heartbreak in his eyes and in his voice. "I have put up with two years of you constantly putting your cases or taking someone else's side over mine, Nancy Drew. And—now, Frank?" he chocked, his voice sounding like he was fighting the urge to cry. "I can't do this anymore!"

"I guess it is." Nancy gulped down a sob and tried to keep her composure as he walked away, now, really truly, for the last time. It was over. _They_ were over.

Her heart broke into tiny little pieces; tears of regret blurred her vision. She wanted desperately to call out to him, to erase all her mistakes over the last two years, start over fresh, but that look in his eyes the minute he had walked in the door and saw Frank holding her hand had killed him. It would forever pain him while they would remain together.

"You're right, Ned," she whispered. "It's over, and I killed it. It's my fault," she hissed through gritted teeth, clenching her hands into fists as she collapsed back onto her bed, the strength to stand losing her, not to mention she should not have willed herself to stand on a broken ankle. "I did this to us. Not you."

Her eyes dripped with tears as Frank re-entered the room, a guilty look full of hot shame and anger on his face. He no doubt had seen Ned's expression upon leaving. "Nance, I—I am so sorry!" he cried out wildly. "This is all my fault; I should _never_ have…"

His voice cracked and trailed off, too distraught to finish his thought. All Frank could do was look at the young woman who had secretly held his heart for the last five years. He had known her longer than Ned.

Before he could stop himself, he had enveloped Nancy Drew into a tight hug, not willing to let her go. He sobbed into her hair unceasingly, burying his face in her auburn hair. All of this was his fault. His hands clutched at her hospital gown for support.

Nancy, though momentarily taken aback by his sudden display of emotion, simply held Frank in silence as his tears soaked her chest. A tiny lapse let him pull away, blinking lashes with heavy tears, before he collapsed again, his cries of agony over what he had done to one of his best friends worsening. His pain must have come for him in waves, minutes of crying broken apart by short pauses for recovering breaths, before hurling him back into the outstretched arms of his grief.

"It's okay, Frank," she soothed, swallowing the lump forming in her throat. "Well…we'll get through this."

And then she started crying despite her best attempts to hold it back. The tears burst forth like water from a dam, spilling down her face and drenching poor Frank's sweater. She felt the muscles of her chin tremble like a small child and she looked towards the hospital window, as if the light could somehow soothe her. There was a static in her head once more, the side effect of this constant fear, constant stress Nancy lived in and with.

She heard her own sounds, like a distressed child, raw from the inside. It took something out of her that the young sleuth did not know she had left to give. That's the way it was when people were hard, bitter.

It was like a theft, an injury no other person could see, something that she rarely let others—not even Ned—see. The only person who she let see in such a vulnerable state like this was currently embracing her in a hug so tight she feared he would break her.

Frank. Sometimes, in times like right now, when Nancy was feeling sick, just the thought of his name lightened her mood. She just felt content to know that he was always there, a shoulder to cry on, quite literally right now, as a matter of fact. To guard her from any harm that would come her way, though they both knew she was more than capable of handling her own, she secretly rejoiced in the fact that someone like Frank Hardy would always have her back. Nancy knew Frank would always be there for her, to lift her up whenever she fell. He was everything she knew, the person who laughed before picking her up, the person who gave indefinite hugs.

Nancy fondly remembered those moments in the early days of their friendship, back when he'd been dating Callie, his first girlfriend, how they would laugh together, get scolded together, when they would play pranks on their respective partners, and in some cases, the times where said pranks backfired.

Nancy, in her own special way, loved Frank Hardy and always would, no matter how far across the continent he was, a part of his soul would always stay within her, where she would keep it close.

He would always be her best friend. "Always," she whispered, earning a quizzical look from Frank as he pulled back slightly to study her tear-stained face, but he chose not to comment on it, his only gesture of comfort was for his fingers to grip tightly onto the back of her hospital gown. His hands drifted down toward her waist, almost gripping painfully tight.

Neither of them said a word, for it was too precious a moment to ruin.


	3. A New Mystery

"But Frank, why are we here?" protested Nancy lightly, voicing her concerns as Frank gingerly helped her out of the car. Refusing to tell his friend where they were headed, he had dropped her off back at home, insisting that she pack an overnight bag, enough to stay for at least four nights. When prompted, he would tell her nothing.

"It's for your own good, Nan," was all he said, his tone and his voice pained as he looked at her from the driver's seat, not bothering to get out. "It's my fault what happened between you and Ned, I should have never…" He shook his head to clear his mind of the dark thoughts swirling like a ravaging vortex inside his brain. "I…anyways, that's not the point. I'm taking you on a vacation."

Nancy smirked, tossing her hair back over her shoulders. "But what about the journal of Captain Baycroft? I still owe Dr. Halstead a favor, and not to mention Dad!" she said, a horrified look suddenly crossing her delicate features. "Oh, no, he was counting on me to—"

"Nancy!" interrupted Frank, his tone rather clipped and hard. His gaze drifted towards to her broken ankle, currently clad in one of those thick black walking boots. "Something tells me your father will understand and even appreciate you taking four to five days off. Give yourself a rest, Nan, you were lucky you weren't killed falling down those stairs!" eh snapped, feeling his tone go rather hard and irate. He sighed, running a hand through his tuft of dark brown hair. He didn't want to get into it, not now. Not when both were still reeling from what happened to Ned. But sensing the amateur detective needed a little coaxing, he couldn't resist adding in one final quip of his own. "I hear there's a bit of a mystery where we're going, Nance…"

Now her curiosity was piqued. "Really?" she asked, leaning forward slightly in her seat. "Tell me more! What do you know? Where is it?"

Frank laughed, brushing away her questions with an airy wave of his hand. "I don't think so, Nan. Not until you do as I told you and go pack a bag. Bring a couple changes of clothes. Bring whatever you think you'll need to last four nights. Oh, and a swimsuit! I'm told the weather where we're headed at this time of year is quite pleasant," he teased lightly, noticing how flushed and red her face was becoming.

"All right," sighed Nancy exasperatedly, biting her lip in good humor and playfully socking Frank on the arm. "You've convinced. Be ready in about…" she checked the clock on the dashboard. "Fifteen?" When she turned to Frank, she was startled. "What?"

"You can pack a bag in fifteen minutes?" joked Frank. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" he laughed, raising his hands in mock defense in front of his face as she playfully attacked him. "Jeeze, Nance, I didn't mean it!"

"I know," she said, shooting him a small, sad smile as she slammed his car door, and, with some amount of difficulty made her way up the front steps of Carson Drew's home. Judging by the looks of their driveway, both her father and their housekeeper, Hannah Gruen, were out. As promised, within fifteen minutes, she had stuffed a small assortment of clothes, a bathing suit, and toiletries in a weekender bag. Frank already had the car door open waiting for her when she stepped back outside, the bag and her purse slung over her shoulder.

"Now will you tell me where we're going, Frank?" she pleaded, tossing her bags into the backseat of Frank's car. "Pretty please?"

Frank regarded the young detective in silence for a moment. "You know I can never say no to you, Nance," he joked, though there was something gleaming in his eyes that Nancy Drew could not quite identify, and she wasn't sure that she liked the look in his eyes. "Have you ever heard of the Black Lake? It's up in Maine, near Bangor."

Nancy shook her head no. "Sorry to say I haven't, but with a name like that, it sounds like it has quite the history. I'm right, aren't I?"

The elder Hardy brother nodded, a grim expression on his handsome face as he concentrated on driving out of River Heights and onto the interstate. "You could say that," he replied at last, wincing a little.

Nancy pursed her lips into a thin line, crossing her arms against her chest and tapping her uninjured foot on the floor of the passenger side of Frank's car. "Frank…" she said, a slight warning edge to her tone.

"Sorry!" he apologized, keeping his attention on the road. "There have been a series of—of murders there throughout the years."

"Ew." Nancy scrunched her nose in disgust and felt a cold chill travel down her spine, freezing her insides. "How bad?" she asked softly, feeling her voice go soft and quiet, not sure if she wanted to know the answer. "Tell me the truth, Frank Hardy," she said sternly.

"It's…" His voice trailed off as he struggled to find the right words. "Drownings, mutilated bodies, all of it's horrible, stuff, Nance. They—there's pictures, but I couldn't look at them for more than a second, so I won't even show them to you. I—I don't know what possess someone to commit such horrible acts of violence," he spat, rather roughly, saying the words as if they were poison that had settled on his tongue. "The camp counselors there are, at least according to the police, rather useless, at least that was their impression of the place when they came out to the lakeside to take a look following the last incident." Frank glanced sideways at Nancy to gauge her reaction.

"I don't like this, Frank," she said softly, feeling what little color was left in her face drained as she fixed her attention solely on the road in front of her. "_Murders_? And violent ones, no less, all of them camp counselors? What is this, _Friday the 13__th_? Do they expect a serial killer to pop out of the lake like magic? This doesn't sound like a job for you and me, this is entering into possible FBI territory. Did someone specifically ask for us to come out? Do we know anybody connected to this Blake Lake?" she asked, feeling her brow furrow into a frown.

"Carson does," said Frank, startling Nancy and chuckling dryly at her bewildered expression. "The owner of the camp, a woman named Helen, asked for Carson to recommend someone who could come out and take a look, figure out what's happening before something else happens." He noticed Nancy's worried expression and let one of his hands drift from the steering wheel to her lap, where it settled.

She felt his fingers give a gentle reassuring squeeze and she smiled.

"Fine, fine," she sighed, running a hand through her auburn locks as she took a moment to pull it back into a loose French braid. "We'll go, but the minute things start getting violent or out of control, I'm out," she mumbled, sounding ashamed as she glanced down at the boot that she wore on her foot to protect her ankle while it healed. "I don't know about you, Frank, but getting chased around by a possible serial killer doesn't quite make it to my bucket list."

He laughed, saying nothing. "I understand, Nan," he said at last. Nancy Drew affectionately noticed that every so often, his gaze would flit from the road over to her in the passenger seat. "I—I'm sorry about Ned, Nance," he apologized at last. "It's my fault."

"No," she answered immediately, cutting off Frank, not letting him finish his sentence. "It is not your fault, Frank, and never will be. Ned made his choice, and I…he…we've had our problems in the past, so perhaps it's for the best," she sighed, choosing instead to avert her gaze and look out the window so she could avoid the pained stare that Frank was currently giving her. She knew he blamed himself.

As she mulled over her recent break up with Ned Nickerson, she knew that he had invented every excuse for staying with her the last two years, when in reality, he should have probably left long ago. Nancy had felt she had given him every reason to leave. As much as it pained her to admit it, she had prioritized her cases and vacations over spending time with Ned, and, as a result, had shut him out of her life.

But she had tried to ignore the warning signs, the fights, like a lovesick fool, like a drug addict dying from an overdose. It seemed like in those days, when she had been oblivious and blind, everything was perfect, but underneath Ned's surface, he was a ticking bomb.

Nancy and Ned had drifted further and further apart, until those few nights ago in the hospital in North Carolina where, surprise to both Hardy brothers and to Nancy, Ned had followed them there upon hearing the news his girlfriend almost died falling down a flight of stairs. He had told Nancy with her ways that he needed to leave her, go far away from her as possible and never go back, never come back.

So, Nancy gave up on a person for the first time in her life. She left.

Not wanting to dwell on the unpleasant memory of their breakup as it was still too fresh in her mind, she curled her feet up on the seat, being careful to be mindful of the stupid black boot she wore, as she felt this strange blackness come over her. Perhaps it was a side effect of her pain medication the doctor had given her, or she just did not realize how tired she was, not having gotten an adequate full night's sleep the last few nights, but the darkness washed over her like a blanket, but not like a blanket of warmth, but one of coldness, making her shiver. But somehow, it made her eyes feel heavier and heavier. She finally closed her eyes, allowing herself to be sent into sleep. Just a brief thirty-minute nap wouldn't hurt her, right? Surely, she could close her eyes for just a minute, and she would wake up feeling refreshed...

* * *

The light was already failing when she and Frank approached the lake, after what felt like sixteen hours of being cooped up in the car. Instinctively, Nancy slapped her arm and it came away red. A smiled to herself, she did not usually catch mosquitoes. Then to her horror, she realized that she barely could have missed. The insects she just displaced resettled in moments, there wasn't just one there were hundreds.

Her eyes darted from one limb to the other, each one of them was host to a small army of mosquitoes. Nancy swiped at her face and turned tail to run. No midnight rendezvous was worth this, but perhaps Frank knew it, perhaps this was his idea of a joke. Nancy turned to say something to Frank, her mouth agape slightly.

"How come _you're_ not struggling with mosquitoes?" she demanded hotly, swatting another bunch away that had gathered near her ear.

Frank opened his mouth to retort, to ask her if she wanted some bug spray, when a piercing noise split the air, rendering them speechless. At first, the noise was nothing but a deeper moaning to the caustic fall air that swept over the lakeside. The sound itself around their ears and began to change, like a terrible lullaby. Then from that background of sound that ebbed and flowed just like waves on moonlit sands on a beach, came words. Nancy and Frank froze.

They strained to listen against the ceaseless wind and crashing water. It was no language either of them knew, but it hissed it as it spoke…

The ghost was more silent than the watery grave it arose from, staring with heavy lidded eyes and a slack mouth. Her cheekbones accentuated the skeletal look and in her gaze Nancy's mind was robbed of emotion. Instead of running, or screaming the detective stood more still than the corpse that was standing in front of her and just as cold. She beckoned with fingers that rapidly faded to only a suggestion of form. Nancy wordlessly passed each tree near the lake-bed without taking account of the forest's path until the detective stood in a place that was unrecognizable. She became more solid again, but this time her skin bore many silver scars, thick and jagged. Nancy began to think new things, thing she wouldn't normally.

"I want to stay here with her, forever." The thought became a desire and her insides lit with an intensity to make it possible. Her body crumpled to the dirt, leaves and mud met the side of her face and her knees curled up like an unborn. It was then she heard Frank shout her name, over and over. Nancy opened her mouth to speak but nothing would come. He was frantic, yelling, scared…


	4. Meeting Helen

"Nance!" A nudge to Nancy's rib cage forced the young sleuth awake to see Frank's concerned face, causing her to wake up faster than a cat in ice-water, every sense urging her to claw her way to standing. Drowsiness got folks dead these days, fast. Only the paranoid survives. "Sorry to wake you, Nan, but we're here. Helen's waiting for us, and she's not looking so happy." He poked her side playfully.

She groaned, sitting up and blearily rubbing the sleep from her eyes. _That was one heck of a dream_, she thought and sighed, pulling out her makeup powder's compact mirror, giving her reflection a quick once over, nodding briefly in approval as Frank put the car in park. Her dark navy blue off-shoulder smocked midi dress and brown sandals flattered her figure quite nicely and was perfect for the heat that still lingered, the last remnants of summer, even in September like this, it was still hot and humid, her auburn hair pulled up into a loose bun, her fringe that fell to her brows framing her eyes.

Nancy glanced at the purse in her lap and scowled, huffing in frustration as she brushed her bangs out of her face and readjusted her bun, so it was at least somewhat presentable to meet her dad's friend and owner of this camp, Helen. "Bess, you've outdone yourself, as usual," she grumbled, searching in her massive new purse, a gift from Bess for her birthday this past May. The thing was huge and practical. Made out of nylon and polyester, a light sky blue color, according to Bess they all had different designs and models. This one, according to the fashionista, was just right for the ace detective. The brand was Ralphany, the name of the bag the Riley.Cute enough, but way too big for what Nancy would use it for. With all its zippers and pockets, she could fit an entire inventory in here. Bess had insisted she take it with, claiming to Nancy she would never know when she'd need the extra storage space, and wouldn't take no for an answer. She insisted it was the perfect bag for traveling. Glancing warily at her reflection in the mirror, Nancy cringed, not liking how pale she was looking, but she could appreciate the outfit nonetheless and found it mostly suitable.

_Bess's outfit_, she thought and sighed. _As usual, she never passes up an opportunity for me to be her new mannequin, especially when it comes to Frank_, she pondered, glancing over at Frank, whose attention was fixated on someone else as they got out of their car. _Who is he looking at?_

Nancy grabbed her purse, trying to ignore the visions of the creature in her dream and failing. Her brain felt shot through and coughing from the tail end of a summer cold, or perhaps it was just the climate change. It was the most intense nightmare, and she had never been gladder to see the light of day, and she was a night owl.

"Guys!" came the sound of Frank's younger brother, Joe, sounding immensely relieved to see them both. "You made it! Here, Nan, let me help you," he muttered, quickly rushing to Nancy's aid as she struggled to get out of the car, thanks to this damn blocky boot she was forced to wear for the next eight weeks until her ankle healed.

"Joe!" she breathed, not giving any time to react as the younger Harder brother enveloped her in a tight hug, careful to be mindful of her broken foot. "When—when did you get here?" she squeaked. Joe didn't realize how strong his grip was. "Joe—can't—breathe…"

"Sorry, sorry!" he mumbled, relinquishing his hold on her and stepped back, his hands raised in the air as though she had burned him. "Just glad you guys made it," he said, turning to Frank and clapped him on the back. "George and Bess are here too. They didn't like the idea of you two coming out here _alone_," he added, noticing the light blush speckling across Nancy's cheek. "In your…fragile state," he said. Now it was his turn to blush as he glanced at her foot. Noticing the dark glower Nancy was giving him, he took the opportunity to diffuse the tension by fumbling in his jeans pocket, wordlessly pulling out a tiny flashlight and clipping it onto a key ring that was on the outside of her purse. "In case you need it."

Nancy smiled, the corners of her mouth pulling upwards into a soft smile. "Something tells me I'm going to need it, Joe. Thank you."

"No biggie," came his response, turning away from Frank and Nancy and shuffling towards what looked like the main cabin of the summer camp. "Helen's this way. And Frank, I gotta tell you, the counselors here, the girls, they're hot. Not like back in River Heights, and—what? What did I say, Frank?" he shouted, wincing as Frank slapped him upside the head. "I'm telling you the truth!"

"I'll bet you are," he growled darkly, glancing towards Nancy and shooting her a wry little wink. "What does Helen have to say about all this?" he asked, not speaking much to Joe, his gaze fixed straight ahead. Before Nancy could react, he bolted forward and held the door open for her. "After you, Nance. Ladies first," Frank teased.

"Ever the gentleman," she responded, shooting him a shy smile.

_Maybe this 'vacation' is just what I need_. _Something to take my mind off Ned. I just hope we can catch this guy_, she pondered, noticing a lone woman sitting by herself at one of the long rectangular wooden tables. The smells of beef cooking and other good smells wafted towards Nancy's nose as her stomach gave a low rumble, violently protesting the fact that she had not eaten anything since last night.

The woman looked up, the lines on her face and underneath her eyes highlighting just how tired she was. Her face relaxed and her shoulders un-clenched when she spotted Nancy, Frank, and Joe.

_This must be my dad's friend, Helen_, Nancy wondered, studying her face.

Helen, much to Nancy's surprise, was only a few years older than her and Frank, seemingly to be in her late twenties, early thirties. Her dark brown hair was cut in an A-line bob and fell to her chin in wavy, graceful layers, caramel and red highlights scattered throughout her hair to give it a pop of color for the summer.

She really _was_ quite pretty, but her eyes unnerved Nancy, just for a moment. Her hazel eyes had a deadness, a stillness even. When at last she turned to fully face the new arrivals, Nancy briefly wished Helen had kept her trance fixated on the window near the table as she had been doing. Deliberation was over. She had judged them all already, Nancy could see it in the young woman's eyes. She didn't think them capable of helping her solve this camp's little 'problem.'

"Miss Drew and Mr. Hardy! You made it! Oh, I'm so glad!" she exclaimed, sounding utterly relieved as she leapt to her feet to shake both Nancy and Frank's hands. "Ouch!" she groaned, making a face and gesturing towards Nancy's foot as she pulled up chairs for them. "That looks like it hurts! Hope it gets better soon, Miss Drew!" Her tone was polite, although it did not match her eyes.

"Yeah, well, my doctor said it's a clean break, so that's good, I think. Just have to take it easy for a while. No hula hooping or anything," she joked, managing a weak little laugh and cringing. Social situations weren't her strong suit. Sometimes her jokes fell flat. Deciding to cut to the chase, she set her purse down by her feet and plopped into the chair. "Helen? Can I call you Helen?" she asked.

Helen nodded. "Of course. Your father highly recommended you, Nancy. I hope that you can help us. Otherwise…I'll have no choice but to try to get the FBI involved. Our local police force here in Maine isn't equipped to deal with something of this caliber."

"And you think that we can?" Nancy asked incredulously, quirking her brow and glancing towards the Hardy brothers. Both brothers had unusually solemn looks on their faces. She was used to it from Frank, Frank being the more serious of the two, but to see such a somber look on Joe, the flirtatious happy-go-lucky one, was unnerving, to say the least. "People have been murdered, Helen!"

She cringed as her stomach gave another low growl, one that this time did not go unnoticed by Helen or the others. "Sorry."

"No, no, that was my fault! Where on earth are my manners? I—I'm so sorry, I've just been distracted. You're just in time for lunch. Greg's in the kitchen whipping up some cheeseburgers for lunch. I don't suppose I could convince you to eat with me, and I can tell you what I know?" she asked, biting her lip and falling silent.

"We'd like that," Joe spoke up, his gaze fixed on Helen as he shot her a brief little wink. Nancy snorted and fought back the urge to roll her eyes. Not even five minutes into their arrival and here Joe was, already flirting up a storm. _Classic Joe_, she thought, giggling.

"Where are Bess and George?" Nancy asked, glancing around, her brows knitting together in confusion. "You said they were here?"

Joe nodded, taking a sip of water from his water bottle. "Yup. They're out by the lakeside, interviewing some of the other counselors, trying to see what they can get out of them."

Something about Joe's tone puzzled Nancy, and even more so the look in the younger Hardy brother's eyes. She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, and if there was something, he wasn't telling her, when Helen interrupted Joe. "Good luck getting them to talk."

The bitterness and hatred in her voice was unmistakable. It startled the other three around the table as they looked at the head counselor and owner of the camp. "Helen, we need to know everything," encouraged Frank gently, non-accusing and calm. "You called us here to help you," he added, noticing the interesting glimmer in her eyes as her hazel eyes seemed to darken in color. "If you don't think we can handle this, just say the word and we'll leave. We'll leave and we won't come back." There. He said it, what they were all thinking, what they could see in Helen's eyes.

Helen sighed. "I just…so many others have gotten hurt!" she exclaimed, unshed tears beginning to well at the corners of her eyes. "We've had…deaths…here, and—and people don't like to talk about it. They've been so gruesome, the police looked around for five minutes and then left, saying this was out of their jurisdiction! What?" she screeched, glancing up as one of the counselors, Greg, probably, came over with full plates of cheeseburgers and fries, water bottles for everyone. "Thanks, Greg," she mumbled. "Greg, these are the people I was telling you about. This is Carson Drew's daughter, Nancy, and her friends, Frank and Joe Hardy. Detectives."

Greg gave a curt little nod. "I hope you can help us," he answered somberly, taking a seat next to Helen as he passed around the plates. "It seems like it's been one thing after another these days."

Nancy spoke up, munching on a French Fry and trying not to look at Joe as she ate, though she couldn't help it. She watched, disgusted, as the younger Hardy brother shoved a handful of fries into his mouth, making a contented noise in the back of his throat. He washed it down with a large sip of water and took a large chunk of his cheeseburger. She looked at the mountain of fries on his plate and couldn't seem to understand why he enjoyed it so. Grease from the fries oozed from the pile, soaking the paper plate underneath, yet it still had an unnatural sheen to it. _Camp food at its finest_. It wasn't even a golden color as seen in the ads, but a sickly pale beige, accentuated further by the contrasting bright red of the ketchup that had been slathered all over his plate. _That's disgusting, Joe! _

Frank had noticed it too and had a similar look of disgust on his face. He exchanged a brief look with Nancy before turning back to their hosts. "You said the locals here don't like to talk about it. Why? This isn't…" He paused, trailing off, unsure if he should say it.

Helen scoffed and rolled her eyes. "I know what you're thinking. Summer camp, counselors go missing, murders—horrible ones—oh, you're expecting Jason Voorhees to pop out from the Black Lake? Well, I hate to break it to you, Mr. Hardy, but this isn't Camp Crystal Lake, my friend, it's the Black Lake. And it's worse…"

"In what way?" Joe asked through a mouthful of burger. Nancy shot him a look and took it upon herself to speak on Joe's behalf while he was eating.

"What my friend is _trying_ to say," here she shot him another withering look, "is that we'd really appreciate as many details as you can give." She swiped a French Fry off Frank's plate and dipped it into her own pile of ketchup. "The more we know, the better our chances of helping you catch this person or persons behind. We need to know everything. Don't skip the hairy details. We need to know everything. About every score and every sore. And right now."

Greg and Helen winced. "Are you always this blunt and articulate?" Greg smirked, sharing a look with Helen and reaching for her hand.

Nancy shrugged. "I have to be in our line of work, Greg. I'm sure you can appreciate that. Why are the counselors turning up murdered? What is it about this place that has such a—a bad reputation? Tell us. And don't lie to us. We'll know if we're being deceived," she scolded.

Even as she said the words, Nancy could feel an overwhelming sense of calm envelop her entire body, and she wasn't sure if she liked it. Here they all were, about to tackle what might be their most dangerous case yet, and she was acting calm and collected.

Her fingers curled into a fist, purple painted nails digging into her palm. Fear tortured her insides as she waited for Helen to start her story. Before Helen could even open her mouth to speak, a loud scream from outside pierced the air. It was the kind of scream that made your blood run cold. It pierced Nancy's brain and ignited some primeval pathway. Adrenaline surged through her veins as they all bolted from the cabins to head outside towards the source of the noise. As her fingers curled around the handle of the plastic bread knife she'd swiped from the table, her decision was made.

No matter what was out there, she would fight. Even if it meant giving her life to save her friends. No one else here was going to die.


	5. Around the Campfire

A/N: For those who are following, I appreciate your patience. This chapter is rather short, but things will start to pick up following all these exposition chapters. This will be the last chapter until after the holidays as I will be going out of town to visit relatives for Christmas. I hope everyone has a Merry Christmas and a Happy Holidays! ?

* * *

"What's going on here?" demanded Greg, sounding highly annoyed, though there was no mistaking the fear in his voice as the group rushed outside to see the cause of the commotion. A small crowd had gathered around one of the campfire pits. The other head counselor opened his mouth to speak but didn't get a chance as movement on the ground caught Nancy's eye.

"Look out!" Nancy cried, immediately backpedaling, not aware she was still clutching onto the breadknife in one hand, the other instinctively reaching for Frank's t-shirt sleeve without even realizing she was doing so. The water of the lake nearby the pit had no blue tinge, it was green and murky all the way through. Not something you would want to swim in, but Nancy suspected that the kids that came here in the summer swam in the water anyways, not caring or minding what may be lurking beneath. Nothing even a few inches down could be seen from the top, but for now it was irrelevant. There was a movement on the surface, golden with flashes of black. A water moccasin was heading this way. She swam, wave-like across the still surface, faster than Nancy herself could ever swim away. Though Nancy's instincts urged her to run, she chose to remain stock still, frozen both from the adrenaline coursing through her veins as well as fear. These snakes eat the fish, their bites venomous. All she could do was stand and pray the snake had better things to do than take on an unprepared and ill-equipped human with a bread knife in her hand. Though the knife could easily decapitate the creature, it would do her no good or to anyone else if she were to get bitten.

The small crowd waited with bated breaths and Nancy and Frank both noted how everyone's muscles relaxed as the snake swam towards the other side of the lake, towards hopefully better pray than their feet. "Thank God," moaned Bess Marvin, a hand clutched over her heart, the other clutching an unsuspecting camp counselor's t-shirt. Nancy would have laughed at the stupefied expression on the young man's face were they not all still reeling from their first wildlife encounter of their vacation.

The young man was cute enough, Nancy supposed, dressed in shorts and the Black Lake camp T-shirt, his muscular form evident underneath his shirt, his blond hair wavy and tousled from the fall breeze that wafted through the bitter fall air, the fallen leaves riding the breeze, carrying the scent of a rainfall yet to come later.

Once the snake had passed, Greg rounded on the group, his face purpling slightly and turning red with irritation. "Was that you who screamed?" he accused, turning towards Bess, who gave a shy wave to the others, her face ashen and draining of color as she dared to meet Greg's eyes. "Was it the snake?" Nancy stared, awestruck and slightly offended, as Greg seemed to get in Bess's personal space, closing off the gap between the two of them, the tip of his nose almost touching hers. "You caused quite a scene!"

"Greg!" snapped Helen, laying a hand on his shoulder and gently pulling him back, her brow furrowed into a frown. "That's enough!" she growled, shoving him backward slightly. "I can handle this. Why don't you go check on the others? They'll probably be hungry, go back to the kitchens and start helping John with preparing the remainder of the lunches for everyone. Go on, now…"

Greg shot Helen a withering look, but obliged, though not before shooting Bess a dirty look that Nancy thought was highly unwarranted. "Keep the noise down," he called back out. "With everything we got going on here, don't want to attract anything."

"Huh?" George Fayne, Bess Marvin's tomboyish cousin, a young woman who was tall and slender, her dark hair cut short in a stylish, practical pixie cut, whereas her cousin's long blonde hair was pulled up into a loose, messy bun, tendrils escaped to frame her thin face, highlighting her cheekbones. "What is that supposed to mean?" she snapped, taking a step forward as if to go after Greg and question him further, but a quick head shake from Nancy and Frank both rendered her immobile. "Fine," she muttered under her breath, scowling after him. "But just for the record, Nan, I don't like it and I don't like _him_."

Helen sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, collapsing onto a nearby chair by the empty fireplace. "I apologize for Greg's behavior. He's been...under a lot of stress lately. You all might as well pull up a chair. Usually I save the ghost stories for when it's dark around a lit fire with s'mores, but now is as good a time as any, since you're all here like this," she mumbled, lifting her chin slightly to fix Nancy with a quizzical stare, one that Nancy wasn't quite sure to make of, but Nancy gave a curt little nod, taking the seat directly across from Helen. Her broken foot was currently throbbing, shooting fiery pulsing of pain up her leg and her side. It was time to take a break.

"Tell us about the murders," George piped up somberly, pulling up a chair and sandwiching herself between Nancy and Bess.

"I…please understand that you lot come highly recommended by Carson, but I have my doubts," Helen admitted, reaching up to tuck a lock of stray hair behind her ear, adjusting her baseball cap and pulling on a pair of aviator sunglasses to shield her eyes from the sun. "And it's not because I don't doubt your abilities. People have quite literally been murdered here, and in the most gruesome of ways," she said, her tone almost flat and emotionless, though there was no hiding the disgust and the fear in her eyes. "If something happens to either one of you, I would not and could not live with myself to allow another person to meet their demise here. You ask me, as much as I love Black Lake, I think our camp needs to close down if we can't catch who is behind the murders." She folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot restlessly, restless leg syndrome when nervous, Nancy noticed.

"What happened here?" Nancy found herself asking, leaning forward in her chair slightly, hanging onto Helen's every word.

"It started out as simple accidents a few months ago," Helen began shakily, her voice breaking slightly as she spoke. "At first, the counselors didn't think anything of it. Things moved around, you know, they were found in places where they hadn't been. People laughed it off as the counselors playing tricks on each other, making things go bump in the night, you know. Adds to the whole 'camping' experience, I guess. Personally, I've never believed in ghosts, but now, these days…I'm not sure," she sighed.

"The accidents got more violent?" Frank inquired, his chin resting in his hand as he contemplated Helen's story. "Were there any leads on who might be behind these? Sometimes, serials killers especially will leave a sort of calling card. Was there anything left behind when the bodies were found?"

She nodded grimly. "You got it. The counselors laughed it off as a joke, claiming it was the ghost of Todd Baines, a kid that drowned here, way back when Black Lake first opened its doors. No, _not_ like Jason Voorhees, for God's sake! The poor boy drowned, a result of a horrible prank gone wrong. The ones who did it were supposedly never caught," Helen snapped, noticing Joe open his mouth to speak, no doubt to make a movie quote reference. "Anyways. The murders, you wanted to know about them. As for a calling card, no, not that I know of, but that's why I called you. I don't have the trained eye of a detective like you two do. The first body was found in an abandoned silo not far from here, buried in heaps of corn. Mutilated beyond recognition, and I…I won't bother describing the details. Then a few weeks, there was a drowning that police ruled as an accident, but _I_ know better. All our counselors are certified in CPR, some of them even former lifeguards, so there's no way. The—the last victim was the worst." Helen swallowed the lump back forming in her throat and shuddered as a tremor went down her spine. "I—I can't," she mumbled. "I can't even show you the photos of the body, it was that bad. I—the only thing I can say is…her head…it was missing. Alice was such a gem, all the kids loved her. Her parents were absolutely devastated, they still are. The other counselors clammed up after her body was discovered when the police and coroner came to retrieve her body. They won't talk to anyone else anymore, not even Megan." moaned Helen, burying her face in her hands, fighting back the urge to have a breakdown.

"My God," whispered Nancy under her breath, horrified. She exchanged a quick glance with Bess, Joe, George, and Frank. One glance was more than enough for her to determine they were all thinking the same thing. They were in way over their heads and not equipped to deal with something of this caliber. This required a more professional touch. "Have you tried calling the FBI or—or the police?"

"The local police came out, looked around for five minutes and said it was out of their jurisdiction. Dismissed it as a bear attack or something. Said they would alert animal control to keep an eye out, but nobody is taking this seriously, and that's the problem!" bellowed Helen, her face becoming red and blotched in anger as she lifted her head, jutting out her chin to meet Nancy's sad stare.

"How can we help?" Joe asked, unusually quiet and somber. "What makes you think we can solve this case over someone else? You mentioned a girl named Megan? Was she close to Alice? Do you think she saw or knows something about what happened?"

Alice nodded wordlessly. "I—I can't prove it since she won't talk to anyone, but she was the last person to see Alice before…" Her voice trailed off as she failed to complete her thought.

She didn't need to.

"You're close to all the other counselor's ages. In case you haven't noticed on the drive up here, if you stopped in a café or gas station prior to coming here, the locals don't like to talk to cops. Don't ask me why, it's a Maine thing. They don't respond well to authority figures, especially ones with badges and a gun on their hip, so it was Greg's idea to bring in someone from outside."

George chimed in with her two cents. "You think teens close to everyone's ages here can get more info out than an official investigator," she said, her brown eyes growing wide and round with dawning realization. "Do you really think they'll talk to us?"

"It's worth a try," Nancy said, her first words of encouragement around the campfire since sitting down. She always preferred to listen rather than talk, but she couldn't resist adding in her thoughts on this matter. "Even if we don't succeed, we have to at least try. Too many people have died already, and I would feel like a horrible excuse for a decent human being if I didn't do the right thing by my dad and help his friend." Nancy felt her gaze wander towards Helen without even realizing she was doing so until their eyes locked and had a private conversation of their own. _It's going to be okay_, she tried to silently communicate to Helen, who was bug-eyed and on verge of tears. _We'll do what we can to help you, but we can't promise anything. But if my dad trusts you, then that's good enough for me. _

Helen nodded, flicking away the last of her briny tears welling in the corner of her eye with a practiced flip of her finger. "Carson assured me over the phone that you are quite used to getting out of sticky situations, Miss Drew," she said, the hint of a wry smile tugging at the corners of her mouth and a dark little chuckle escaping her lips. She sighed, glancing around at all of them by the campfire. "Miss Drew, Mr. Hardy," she added grimly. "I hope that you don't have to use that talent. I really don't."

Without another word, she rose from her chair and quit the scene before the others could so much as utter a goodbye.

Nancy met Frank's gaze and she knew he was thinking the exact same thing she was.

_I hope we don't, either. _

Joe was the first one to break the stunned silence. "Not exactly the best conversation around a campfire, but I've heard worse." His customary lopsided grin had returned as he turned towards his older brother. "So, big brother? What do you say our next step is?"

Frank looked towards Nancy for confirmation. Nancy tugged at the ends of her ponytail, shifting her broken foot, grateful, for once, that it was stuck in this damn boot.

"She had mentioned the deceased girl, the last counselor, Alice, having that friend Megan. I think we need to track her down and find out what she knows."

So it was decided. Frank and Nancy would track down the grieving friend of the latest victim, and Joe would go with George and Bess to talk to the others, and following dinner they would reconvene at the campfire to discuss what they had learned.

Nancy could not help but feel as though she had been doused in a bucket of ice water. Her insides felt cold, and she wondered if this was perhaps the first time in her life that she truly did not know whether or not she would be able to help these people. Solving a mystery was one thing, but this?

This was murder...


	6. Megan

A/N: okay, I know I said this was the last chapter until post Christmas, but travel delays and stopped up traffic for an hour led me with time on my hands, so I cranked out another chapter. In this chapter, we'll have an introduction to a new character, as well as two familiar faces from Harvest Fest. I liked Lana Eve as characters, but felt they didn't get enough to do, so I'm bringing both women back for an encore performance with more to do in this story, playing a vital role in helping our main characters get out of this mess. Not every chapter will be from Nancy's POV, as I think it's important to get into the headspace of at least a few characters. So much of the stories are told from Nancy's POV, I like to know what other characters are thinking/feeling. I've already decided on a Bess/George chapter, as well as Frank/Joe, and a few others as well. Someone suggested I make this into a book if it gets long enough, and I just might. I might* change the rating to M later if it gets darker since we're dealing with an insane serial killer, but for now the T for teen rating will stay the same.

Enjoy! :)

As usual, Eve Vanderhilt was running quite late. It took her thirty two minutes to get from her apartment in River Heights to the newsroom downtown, and that was only _if _she speeded. She considered it a damn miracle she hadn't already been fired, but Lana appeared to like her work, so she was grateful for that much. Surely, she'd get it.

Her hair dryer hadn't wanted to start this morning and it took finding three separate outlets before it worked again, and Eve refused to show up with soaking wet hair to the office. What would Lana think? In their line of work, appearances were everything. A single thread or fiber out of place could mean the difference between a promotion and a wrist slap.

She stifled a groan as she slipped into her pair of yet-to-broken-in new black heels, pulling a face as she realized spending all day in a crisp new pair of heels was going to be murder on the backs of her ankles, but Eve did not dare complain to Lana of it.

Thirty-eight-year-old Eve Vanderhilt had been a personal executive assistant to top reporter Lana Graham now for exactly thirty-six days now, and the woman would undoubtedly chew her head off for being late unless she brought in some sort of peace offering to make amends. A quick peek in her fridge told her she had nothing of value to offer at home so a quick trip to Dunkin Donuts en route to the office was a necessary evil. An iced Frappuccino and a box or two of the little glazed munchkins their local Dunkies was getting famous for (her favorites) ought to be enough to hold Lana's volatile temper at bay, at least for a while. Enough for Eve to keep her job, unless today was the day when her temper won.

The smell of strong freshly brewed coffee drew Eve into the kitchen. Lana's latest case and "guest of honor," a young woman between the ages of seventeen and eighteen, sat stoically at the round wooden table in the center of the breakfast nook, a cup of steaming coffee clutched in her hands, another already poured for Eve: creamer, milk, a little sugar. The way she liked it. The poor girl's eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, her golden wheat blonde hair cropped short in a stylish pixie cut, with her bangs falling to just below her delicately shaped eyebrows. Though she maintained a cheery disposition and a warm smile, it did nothing to conceal the haunted look in the blonde's blue eyes.

The bags under the girl's eyes and her wrinkled pajamas told Eve Vanderhilt everything she needed to know without the girl so much as having to say a word. "Tell me you haven't been up all night, Megan," she sighed wearily, glancing at the clock on the wall above the kitchen's mantle piece.

_Hell. I'm already late as it is. Speeding through River Heights won't change that fact. It's clear the girl didn't sleep last night and looks like she needs help. _

_Lana can wait. _Frowning, Eve plunked her simple black crossbody purse and her car keys on the table in front of her own mug of coffee and reached for it, careful to be mindful not to chip her manicure.

"Well?" she pressed, waiting for the young blonde to speak. The girl with the delicate, almost elfin-like features didn't speak to Eve for several minutes, just stared into her coffee mug at the swirling liquid inside as though she could not hear her voice at all.

"I haven't been up all night, Miss V," she parroted numbly, her blue eyes darting nervously about the simple apartment. It was clear to Eve the girl was skittish, and rightfully so. She had damn good reason to be, after the trauma she had endured.

Eve quirked an eyebrow at Megan. "Seriously?"

Megan Grunhild, known to most her friends back in Maine simple as Maggie, shot the reporter's assistant a dark look. "You asked me for an answer. You didn't ask me for the truth," she retorted hotly.

"Have you had breakfast?"

"Coffee," answered Megan curtly.

Eve scowled. "That doesn't count."

Now it was Megan's turn to frown. "It seems to when _you're_ in a rush, Miss V."

Eve sighed and chanced a glance at her phone. Thirty six minutes late now. She quickly weighed the pros and cons of being even more late by insisting the girl who had been entrusted in her care by Lana be fed a proper breakfast, versus leaving now, speeding through the metropolitan parts of River Heights to get to Lana's office, where she would no doubt bear witness to a famous Graham explosion.

_The girl is eighteen. A young adult. Shouldn't she be_ _able to fend for herself in the mornings. Have her parents really failed her that much that she can't be trusted to fend for herself and eat breakfast on her own?_ Eve decided she would apologize later to Lana as she opened the fridge door and pulled out the necessary ingredients for a breakfast burrito. Cheese, egg, sauces, tortillas, she just had to be mindful that her black cat, Gabe, didn't go for the tortilla bag again while her back was turned. The animal was a bit of a carb freak. As if on cue, the cat leapt onto the kitchen counter, his yellow eyes alert.

"No, no, off!" She grumbled, shooting the animal off her countertops. "Relax," she joked towards Megan, who had risen from her spot at the table and was watching Eve crack open three eggs and scramble them. "I think I can do this without setting the place on fire," she joked, unable to suppress her grin of triumph as she watched the corners of Megan's mouth turn in a smile. "You don't need to worry!"

Megan scrunched her nose and made a face, gingerly removing the skillet from Eve's hands and stirring the eggs with the spatula. "Right. Just like the time I had to call the fire department because you burnt the movie night popcorn in the microwave?" She smirked, not giving Eve a chance to respond, but something in her expression softened. "You've been so kind in allowing me to stay. Least I can do to repay your kindness is let me cook dinner for you tonight. It's my pleasure, Eve."

Eve felt her facial muscles relax into a slight smile. "If you're insisting on this, I guess I can't talk you out of it. I have a recipe for a nice, simple Italian meal you could easily prepare. You'll have to shop for most of the ingredients though. I don't have them on hand," she mumbled, rummaging through a drawer and pulling out a notecard with the baked ziti recipe on it. She handed it to Megan, who shyly accepted it with a grateful dip of her head. "I'm running late," she groaned, glancing at the clock on her cell phone before plunking it back into her purse. Eve glanced at the now piping hot, fresh breakfast omelette on the plate in front of Megan. "Promise me you'll finish that?"

Megan lifted her chin and her gaze slightly to meet Eve's hazel eyes with her blue eyes. "I promise."

"Then I'm headed out. Don't forget, you're meeting Lana and I for lunch today at Gloria's for your second interview." Her expression softened slightly as she noticed the apprehensive look in the blonde's eyes. "I promise, Lana might be a little rough around the edges, but she will not print or air anything that will cause you any more discomfort. You've been through enough," Eve added darkly as she glanced at the several cuts and bruises on the girl's arms and legs. The worst one was on the right side of Megan's face, just above her brow bone. It would definitely scar and leave marks she knew she wouldn't want. "Remember, if anybody else other than myself or Lana approaches you asking for a quote, don't speak to them," she added firmly, breathing a little sigh of relief as Megan nodded.

Satisfied that she could take care of herself, Eve grabbed her purse and car keys and headed out the door, her mind already on her day's tasks ahead, her first stop to Dunkies to get the donuts and coffee, and then she had to drive down to the courthouse to follow up on an interview with a lawyer for a robbery case, and then down to forensics to check on a set of bloody fingerprints that had been found in a car someone had purchased brand new from the local dealership. The owner of said car threatened to sue Jack Lutson, the car salesmen for negligence and attempting to cover up the truth.

Her mind already occupied, she failed to notice Megan take the plate towards the trash can and dump the scrambled egg omelette without ever taking a single bite.

Megan let out a weary sigh as she lifted her face to the spray of the scorching hot shower, hissing in pain as the hot water raised almost painful welts, reddening her skin. Lathering her blonde pixie with lavender based shampoo, allowing the soothing scent to fill her nostrils and calm her frayed nerves.

Stepping out of the shower as she turned it off, Megan shuddered as a cold chill traveled down her spine. She worked quickly, borrowing Eve's hair dryer and straightener, drying her hair and straightening her bangs, applying a light natural makeup to her features: foundation, brown eyeshadow, just a little mascara on her lashes, and to top off the look, a light pale pink lipgloss on her lips, emphasizing their fullness.

By the time she finished, she looked like a modern little Tinkerbell, as her boyfriend Troy was fond of saying back home. Megan was tiny in stature, standing around 5'5 tall, her blonde pixie cut shorn short so it highlighted all her best qualities: her high cheekbones and good jawline, but mostly her blue eyes, the blue like the sea after a raging storm.

Megan rummaged through her suitcase until she found the outfit she was looking for: a long, floor-length brown floral smocked maxi dress with short off-the-shoulder sleeves and when she moved just slightly, the dress opened up to reveal a leg slit in the front. Troy's favorite dress on her. She slipped on a pair of brown open toed sandals that revealed Megan's love for hot pink toenail polish. Thinking something was missing, she realized what it was as she slipped a plain brown headband into her blonde pixie cut, clasping the back of her stud earrings, making sure they were fastened, three holes in each ear lobe plus her industrial in her left ear, grabbing her simple grape purple, sort of a dark pink rose crossbody messenger purse, made of nylon and polyester, one with plenty of zippers and pockets for her things she'd gotten from the clearance rack at a shop in the mall with Alice one day on a break. Her favorite purse, the Riley model from Ralphany, and gave her reflection a scrutinizing appearance, wishing with all her might that the cuts and bruises, the only evidence of any kind that remained that indicated she'd been attacked at Black Lake back home, would leave her in peace and heal the proper way.

But she knew that they wouldn't.

For there was no salve or bandages that could heal this kind of scar. This kind of ache was different, and would stay with her for the rest of her life sadly.

Megan grabbed her purse and the spare apartment key Eve had given her, taking care to also fetch the list containing the ziti pasta ingredients to head out to the store when her cell phone chirped, indicating she was getting a phone call. Stifling a groan and dipping into her purse to rummage for it, she found the caller ID to be a River Heights number, but not one she recognized. She bit her lip in trepidation, not sure if she should answer it. What if it was another reporter? Eve and Lana told her several times to discuss the ongoing investigation with no one. Deciding it couldn't hurt to answer, she hit the green 'Accept' button on her phone. "Hello?" she whispered, her kind voice quite shy and timid.

The caller on the other end of the speaker was a woman. "Hi, is this Megan Grunhild?" Something about the girl's tone was kind, and though she didn't know it, Megan's tenseness in her shoulders evaporated almost instantly. Whoever the girl was, she had a calming effect on Megan, her voice kind and soothing, seemingly nonjudgmental, which Megan was quick to appreciate. "Hello? Are you there?" Her voice asked again, sounding troubled.

"Hi, y-yes, this is Megan, but I go by Maggie. How can I help you? Who is this?" Megan asked, feeling rooted to her spot and studying her reflection in the hanging mirror in the entryway to Eve's apartment. She was, as her mother liked to call her, a knockout.

Though at the moment, her pale face was drained of color and had taken on an ashy complexion, beads of sweat beginning to form on her brow. The look in her blue eyes was enough for Megan to know she was terrified. Megan was jolted out of her thoughts as the caller on the other end spoke up, bringing the young blonde back to reality. "You don't know me yet, but my name is Nancy Drew. I hope this is okay, one of the counselors here at Black Lake gave me your cell phone number. I'm sort of a detective, and I was called out here to Maine by Helen to see if I could help solve the mystery of who's behind the murders. I understand you were the last one to see the last victim, Alice Fredrickson, alive. Am I right?"

"I...yes," she breathed breathlessly, deciding she couldn't stand anymore to look at her broken, battered reflection anymore and bolted out the door, locking it behind her and slinging her purse over one shoulder. She dug into her purse to make sure she had everything she needed for the day: her favorite wallet depicting a bunch of little sloths, cash, credit card, sunglasses, the Italian recipe with the list of ingredients she still needed to buy at the store, the address of Gloria's Cafe where she was supposed to meet Eve and Lana Graham later for lunch. Phone currently pressed against her ear, so yup.

She had everything she needed.

Megan cringed, not wanting to discuss the events.

"I...I'm sorry, b-but I have to go," she mumbled.

"No, wait!" came the desperate plea of Nancy Drew's voice and something about the girl's tone gave Megan pause. Nancy Drew sounded young, close to if not the same age as her, and she sounded on the verge of breaking down to tears. "Please, Maggie," she begged. "I wouldn't ask this if you if it weren't important. You're our only link so far in figuring out what happened here with these...murders,"' Nancy whispered, her voice breaking slightly as she said that last part. "I _need_ your help, and if there's anything at all that you can tell me, anything you remember, or—or better yet, show us!" She exclaimed, a note of excitement seeping into her tone, but she quickly fought it down. "I could come and pick you up, if you want?"

"Uh, well, that's just it. I'm not exactly in Maine right now, Miss Drew," Maggie gulped and swallowed nervously. She caught sight of her reflection in a nearby shop window as she made her way into the heart of the little town and visibly flinched, though she knew the caller couldn't see it. "I'm in River Heights," she explained, thinking it best to just get it out of the way now. "I—I couldn't stay another second. I had to get out of there. I'm staying with Eve Vanderhilt for the time being and I think—"

"Oh, no!" Nancy groaned, and Megan could picture the girl on the other end thumping her forehead in exasperation and dragging her palm down along the length of her face. "Is Lana Graham interviewing you for an exclusive, by any chance?" Nancy questioned, sounding rather annoyed and irate.

"Yes," Megan confessed. "They've been very helpful." She could feel herself beginning to go on the defensive, ready to back Eve and Lana if need be. "I really don't see how I could help you, Miss Drew."

"Please. Call me Nancy, everyone does." A beat. A pause. "I know what I'm about to ask you would be taking a huge risk and something of a leap of faith, but I don't see any other way. If you're not willing to discuss what happened over the phone, then I..."

Her voice trailed off, unable to complete her thought. Megan had a horrible, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she knew what Nancy Drew was about to ask. "Come home," pleaded Nancy.

"I—I can't!" Megan squeaked, hearing her voice rise an octave whenever she would get upset, which wasn't often, unless she and her boyfriend, Troy, got into another squabble. She cringed, thinking that was another reason she wasn't exactly too keen on returning home just yet. They hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms following Alice's gruesome murder. "I...I'm not ready, Miss Drew," she whispered. "I really don't see how I can help you."

"Think about my offer," Nancy chimed in. "If you decide to come home, I'll help chip in for a rental car and gas to get you home, or a bus ticket. I may not look it, as I'm sure you'll find when you meet me, but most clients pay me pretty well for my help, so I've got quite a bit saved up in a separate account to cover expenses for cases like this."

_In other words, you're rich_, Megan thought.

Unable to resist adding in one last quip, Nancy added, "Please help us. You're perhaps my only hope in finding out who did this to your friend."

Nancy Drew was the first to end the call, leaving poor Megan Grunhild stunned, to think about the young detective's words. _Come home. You're my only hope to find out who did this to Alice..._

Dread crept down Megan's spine, chilling her insides and rendering her blood cold. On one hand, she desperately wanted to honor her friend's memory and find out who did this to her, but on the other hand, she didn't think she could face going home again. Her hand faltered as she dipped into the main compartment of her purse to pull out her medium size wallet depicting a bunch of sloths hanging from trees, a gift given to her by Alice last summer on her birthday. She unzipped it open and out fell a picture, slightly worn and and tattered.

She picked it up from the ground with slightly trembling fingers, feeling tears gather at the corner of her eyes as the tip of her fingers graced the edges of the photo, of Alice's face. So much more than a friend, Alice was almost like a bigger sister.

_Has been_, her inner voice corrected. _She's gone. _

Taking a deep shaking breath, Megan fumbled the picture of her and Alice as she fought to return it safely to her wallet, where it belonged. She knew she needed to find her inner resolve. Quelling the lump in her throat, the young blonde reached for the slip of paper containing the address to Gloria's.

She knew what she needed to do. Where she needed to go. "Home," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly as she walked, not really sure where she was going, only that she needed to get there, and fast. _I need to go home. For Alice_.


	7. Interview

A/N: Another Megan/Lana/Eve chapter. Megan is really growing on me as a character, and I decided right from the beginning stages of planning my outline that she would be somewhat of a major character in helping Nancy solve the case, because Nancy needs a friend, that's why (outside of the usual crew). I don't want to make this too much about Megan/Maggie and detract from the story without spoiling anything, but she does have a vital role to play, with tidbits of her life creeping into the story as it progresses. I have a plan in mind for this character, and I hope to do it justice in the end. Next chapter switches back to Nancy, so no worries! :)

Lana Graham huffed impatiently outside the Tex Mex restaurant, glancing at her Apple Watch on her left wrist. Ten minutes past, and one glance over at Eve was more than enough. The girl, Maggie, was late. Her stomach growled, informing Lana that she'd not eaten since eight this morning, and even then it wasn't more than a handful of the glazed munchkins and a coffee from Dunkin Donuts.

"Where is she?" Lana growled irritably, glancing towards Eve for confirmation, who kept shooting a skittish glance down the street. "Did you text her to let her know the restaurant changed? She's coming up on eleven minutes, and I'm starving, Vanderhilt!"

"Yes, ma'am," mumbled Eve apologetically, checking her phone for messages. Nothing yet. At approximately twelve o'clock, Lana decided last minute against Gloria's and instead for a Tex Mex place called Tico's, a local joint that was garnering fame and attention for their huge burritos. She squinted down the street, struggling to see, thanks to the glaring afternoon sun, though the dark clouds billowing in fron the east promised a heavy thunderstorm in a little while, her expression hidden behind her sunglasses, and the reporter's assistant breathed an audible sigh of relief and felt herself relax at the sight of the blonde girl wandering aimlessly down the sidewalk, finally taking note of Eve and offering a shy little wave, wincing as she drew closer and noticed Lana's agitated expression.

"I apologize for being late, I got lost," Megan said apologetically, wringing her hands together painfully, shifting her weight to her other foot, switching her little pink purse to her other arm as she studied both Eve's and Lana's expressions, one out of fear for what her boss would think, and the other...not really caring so. Megan watched as Lana's eyes drifted downward, scrutinizing the young blonde's appearance, everything from her golden blonde pixie cut, cut shorter than she had ever seen on a young woman, the front was quite feminine, the back of her pixie cut tapered neatly using a pair of clippers, most unusual for a girl her age, though even Lana begrudgingly had to admit, she pulled it off, she liked the look on the blonde. It highlighted her great cheekbones and amazing jawline, and looked easy to maintain, a wash and go style, to her choice of Bare Minerals makeup and the style of maxi wrap dress she wore and purse she carried.

Lana Graham let out a tiny sniff of disdain as her gaze drifted towards the girl's simple but vibrant grape purple, almost a dark rose pink messenger purse, no doubt a cheap little thing she'd gotten off the clearance racks, maybe at one of the Japanese shops in the mall. Definitely a bag suited for travel, and she could tell by the pink and purple jeweled butterfly keychain on the bag as well as the color of her purse itself and her hot pink manicure and pedicure that Maggie Grunhild loved the color pink.

Eve on the other hand, recognized the girl's purse as the Riley from the Ralphany collection. She made a mental note to look into getting the sky blue one for herself later tonight, she could tell it was functional as well as stylish, with all its zippers.

Though Lana would never admit it, for someone who came from a lower middle class family, the blonde had good taste in clothing.

It made poor Megan feel as though she were under the microscope, as nothing more than some kind of lab rat to be studied, always under constant watch. She flinched and waited in silence.

_Going home is going to be tough with these two constantly watching my every move, _she thought, a furtive, guilty look on her face. Megan hopes her eyes didn't betray her, but she knew Eve saw that.

Megan opened her mouth to elaborate and offer an explanation, but Lana cut her off before she could.

"Did you not think to use Google Maps on your phone to punch in the restaurant's address?" snapped Lana, ignoring the look of daggers Eve shot her. Lana rolled her eyes and motioned with a curt wave of her arm for the two women to follow her, her heels clacking on the sidewalk as she marched inside the Tex Max restaurant, ignoring the dumbfounded look of the restaurant's hostess as she marched right past the sign that said **Please Wait to be Seated**_, _turning a deaf ear to the protests of the young blonde girl behind her.

"Wait!" Megan squeaked, trailing close behind both women and glancing back over her shoulder, trying to silently apologize for Lana's curt behavior towards the hostess, who was staring after Lana as though she could not quite believe her eyes. "We—we can't just waltz right on in past the hostess booth and seat ourselves! It's their job!" Megan protested, panting a little and heaving to catch her breath, having finally caught up to Lana and Eve, who had seated themselves in a corner booth towards the back of the restaurant, away from most of the noise of the lunch crowd, though the unmistakable clanking of plates and forks and knives could be heard amongst the chattering of the patrons, and Megan's stomach elicited a low warning growl, painful enough to cause her to clutch at her stomach as it reminded her that she had done her body a disservice by skipping breakfast. She lifted her chin, daring to meet Lana's gaze. The esteemed reporter was looking..._amused_.

"Is there a problem, Miss Grunhild?" Lana asked coyly as she set her Louis Vuitton next to her. She quirked a penciled brow Megan's way and waited.

Megan scowled, tapping her foot against the hardwood floor, her arms folded across her chest as the young blonde glanced back and forth between the two older women a few times. Deciding it was a lost cause, she let out a sigh of agitation and slid into the booth next to Eve, who took Megan's purse from her arm and set it in the corner next to hers and Lana's bags. "I take it by the way you just barged on in here past the hostess stand means you either don't care about the staff that works here or you know someone who works here, right?"

Lana smirked, her dark eyes lighting up as she flagged down a good looking guy in his forties with slightly tanned skin and a wild tuft of dark hair. "It helps to know the manager here," she joked dryly, giving the man whose name tag read Zane a curt nod and the famous Lana Graham grin. He returned the gesture with no sign or hint of hostility in his gaze. "He knows where I sit and what I order. Every time. Don't you, Zane?" Lana added, flashing another dazzling white smile the manager's way.

"That I do," he complimented warmly. If her abrasive behavior offended him in any way, he did not show it, as he slid menus across the table towards all of them. "Can I get you ladies started off with something to drink? Waters, our special brews?"

"Just waters, thanks," Eve piped up as she pulled a miniature tape recorder and a notepad out from Lana's laptop bag. Zane took the hint and nodded.

"Miss Graham, I know you typically order your usual, but as for you two ladies, did you need a few minutes to decide? Would you care to hear about our specials?" The restaurant manager asked cordially, as he folded his hands together behind his back, rocking back and forth slightly on his heels.

"I'll have the steak burrito," chirped Eve, flipping her menu closed and glancing towards Megan, chuckling a little at her dazed expression as she flipped through the five page menu, in awe of all the choices. Eve couldn't resist adding in her two cents. "Since this is your first time and probably _only _time to Tico's, who knows when you'll come back to River Heights for a visit. I'd recommend getting one of this place's burritos." Eyeing Megan's slender form in her maxi wrap dress, the reporter's assistant couldn't help but add in a quip of her own. "Though I will warn you, Tico's burritos are _huge. _I'm talking leftovers for at least a couple days, though given how tiny you are, I would say at least a week for you, Maggie." Eve shot Megan a kind, gentle smile and handed their menus back towards Zane, who waited patiently as Megan deliberated over the choices.

Tapping her chin thoughtfully, Megan sighed. It was clear there was no way to talk these two out of buying her lunch and wriggling her way out of this damned dreaded second interview, which she had been dreading. The first had been rather informal over coffee and donuts, sort of a meet-and-greet.

Today's session, according to what Lana had briefed her on, would be much longer, more in depth and Megan would be pressed for details.

Details she was _not_ ready to share with the rest of the world, but she had given her word and taken the deal. In exchange for remaining anonymous, Megan would tell Lana Graham and Eve Vanderhilt what she knew of Alice's violent torture and beheading.

"In that case, I'll try the beef burrito," Megan said at last, craning her neck up to look towards Tico's manager, who gave a nod and a brief smile at her choice, his green eyes twinkling playfully. "Is it good? If it's not, I'll be sorely disappointed. Oh, thanks!" she chirped as Zane quickly fled and was back almost before she had time to blink as he returned with their ice waters and a platter of chips and salsa for the three of them. "Well? Is it good?"

"The best," agreed Zane, shooting Lana a quick glance, whose face remained professionally impassive, though there was something glistening in her dark eyes, and a grim sort of smile Megan knew right off the bat she did not like, nor was she sure what to make of. "I have to ask, given the last..._incident_ we had here with one of your interviews, Miss Graham," he shot Lana a dark look but kept his gaze fixated solely on Megan as he spoke. "All our burritos come with red sauce, refried beans, both in the burrito and on the side served with rice, melted queso on top and hot sauce. Do you have any known allergies that need substitutions, Miss Grunhild?" he asked pointedly.

"Nope," chirped Megan happily, shaking her head no. "Not even the hot sauce. I'm good!" she grinned, much to the amusement of the manager.

Zane breathed an audible sigh of relief. "That's a relief," he murmured. "Last girl Miss Graham brought here for an 'exclusive' didn't tell our waitstaff she was allergic to beans, and of course all of our menu items are served with them, so of course she threw a huge fit. Took Lana here and a few others to calm her down before she'd stop threatening to sue the restaurant," Zane joked.

"Well, I'm not her," chuckled Megan, reaching for her water glass and taking a sip through the straw.

"Clearly not," Zane retorted, something akin to amusement in his green eyes. Clutching their menus in his hands, he flashed the women a charming smile. "I'll put your orders into the kitchen and your food will be out right away, as well as takeout boxes." Shooting a cheerful wave to Lana, he left the trio of women alone, and Megan cringed a little.

No longer could she delay the inevitable. It was now. Megan swallowed the lump forming in her throat and made a big show of taking a few sips of her water, taking a huge interest in the condensation beading on the outside of the glass. She visibly cringed as Lana situated the tape recorder, almost obsessively so. Eve noticed her looking and smiled.

"We can use our phones to do this, but we're old-fashioned this way. Tapes allow for longer interviews." She shot Megan a coy little wink and reached for a chip, dunking it in a pile of hot salsa.

"What do you want to know? Shouldn't the police report be enough?" asked Megan, averting Lana's piercing gaze and instead choosing to focus her attention on the only woman who had shown her an ounce of kindness since she'd arrived to River Heights. Eve. "I don't know what else I can say..."

"Everything," answered Lana simply, with a shrug of her shoulders. "This is the story of the century, Miss Grunhild, and like it or not, you're a main character in this story, and your friend, Alice, deserves justice for her murder. You were the last one to see her alive," she added dryly, narrowing her eyes slightly. "You might possibly be the only person who's caught a glimpse of the notorious Black Lake killer."

Megan opened her mouth to retort, but didn't get a chance to respond as Zane returned to their tables with a huge platter of food, balancing their plates on an oversized tray, hot pads underneath to protect his hands. "Wow," she exclaimed, feeling her eyes go bug-eyed, wide and round at the size of their burritos as Zane placed her plate in front of her. She poked at her beef burrito with a fork. The thing was _definitely_ loaded, stuffed to the brim with beef, beans, and rice, drenched in red sauce on top and off to the side on a completely separate plate was a pile of refried beans and rice that in it of itself were worthy of a heaping plate of nachos later and a Netflix movie . "You weren't kidding, sir, this burrito is _huge_. I'll definitely be needing a to-go box. There's no way I'll be able to eat this all in one go."

The restaurant manager smirked at the girl's nonplussed expression, promising to return later with boxes for them all and their check. "Take as much time as you need, Miss Graham! Anything for my best and favorite customer!" he said jovially.

"Thanks, Zane!" Lana called, returning her attention back to Megan, rolling her eyes as the girl took meticulous attention in cutting her beef burrito into tiny, triangle, bite-sized pieces, almost obsessively compulsive. She took careful note of how the blonde ate, almost birdlike, afraid to really eat.

Eve noticed, frowning. "_Eat_, Maggie. You're way too skinny." She reaches over and pinched her wrist, a criticism and a caliper all at once. "It's good food."

Megan knitted her brows together in confusion as she stared at the burrito on her plate. Two seconds ago it looked—still _did_ look—amazing and smelled like heaven, but now all she could see was the fat and grease oozing out thanks the beef's juices and seasoning. Perhaps it was due to her nerves at having to tell these two women who were, for lack of a better word, essentially strangers to her, details of Alice's bloody murder, and how she herself had barely managed to escape with her life unscathed, that she suddenly found herself not very hungry.

In fact, she felt quite nauseous and decided to save the rest of her food for later, when hopefully visions of her friend's dismembered head on a pike wasn't swimming around in the front of her mind, refusing to part from her thoughts. With a grimace, she reached for her water glass and took a long sip.

Megan nodded, taking her time chewing her bite of burrito and swallowing before answering. "What do you want to know?" She already knew the answer.

"Why don't we start small?" Eve suggested, taking a sip of her water before grabbing her pen to take notes. "Tell us a little about yourself. Where you went to school, what your likes and dislikes are. Where you want to go to college, your hopes and dreams for your future," she said, throwing her a disarmingly kind smile that caused poor Megan to immediately put her guard up and she hated that.

She knew a small part of her was just being overly cautious and while she did not think they would blame her for it, given everything she had been through within the last month alone, Megan had every right to be reserved and on guard right now.

Before Megan could even open her mouth to speak, Lana dug into her designer handbag and pulled out a separate recorder, speaking into it abruptly. "This is Lana Graham with River Heights QTV, Interview One with subject Megan Grunhild of Bangor, Maine. Interview discussing the details surrounding case A113E904, the Black Lake murders of 2019-present. Date: September 15th, 2020, time 12:30 pm, location of interview: Tico's Tex Mex Restaurant."

Megan stared at Lana, not quite sure what to say or think. The distinguished reporter finally noticed where the young blonde was looking and smiled.

"Okay, I can see you need some coaxing," began Lana, shoving aside her barely touched burrito, making a mental note to ask Zane for boxes whenever he returned when their interview was concluded, though Megan had agreed to as many as Lana needed in order to fully tell the story in its true entirety, she hoped it would take no more than two, perhaps even three two to three hour sessions, as many appointments as the girl needed to tell it.

Megan shoved her own plate of barely touched food, glancing at the burrito on her plate. Eve has been right in her guess as to one burrito this size would undoubtedly feed her for at least a week.

"I went to Waverly Academy, ma'am. I'd like to eventually go to school, maybe major in journalism."

The young woman had expected Lana to be impressed, but if anything, the reporter looked sympathetic. "It's a tough field. Not for everyone."

Megan nodded, clutching onto her water glass, watching the condensation beads slide down the glass as though her very life depended on it. It did.

"We'll see," she whispered in a small voice. "The—the psychiatrist advised I take a few years off before thinking about college," Megan mumbled sadly. "I got the job as a camp counselor through a fellow graduate of Waverly. My roommate, actually, she encouraged me to apply for the summer programs. I took the job obviously. I needed the money since thanks to deadbeat parents I'm a ward of the state."

"What are your parents' names? What do they do?" Eve asked, tilting her water glass back and munching on an ice cube. "Did you get a scholarship?" she questioned, noticing the dull look in the young blonde's eyes as her sky blue orbs darkened to an almost cerulean hue. She was angry.

Whatever was going through Megan's mind at the moment, it was _not _good. A dark look overcame the young woman's pretty features and she was jolted back out of her inner musings by Lana snapping a finger in front of her nose to snap her out of it.

"Sorry, sorry," she mumbled, apologetic. "My parents are John and Kelly Grunhild, Miss Graham. My dad is a bit of a drinker, I'm afraid and my mom is unfit to care for me. For anyone, really. She's..." her voice trailed off and she looked away for a minute, a muscle in her jaw twitching as she fought to maintain her calm composure and was losing it.

Eve was the first to notice and quickly offered to intervene. If the tension in the air surrounding their corner booth would have been a color, the air around the trio of women would have been scarlet.

"If we need to take a break, we can, maybe we can talk about this back at the office? You walked over, didn't you? I'd be happy to give you a ride back."

But Megan held up a hand to stop her. "No, that's fine. My...mom is a schizophrenic. She takes meds for it, but it isn't enough. She was deemed unsafe to be near. I haven't seen Mom in over three years."

Eve and Lana shared a dark look of understanding, one that did not go unnoticed by Megan. She frowned, lifting her head and jutting out her chin defiantly as she glowered at the pair of women.

"You don't think...oh my god, you _do_! You think _I'm _a suspect in Alice's murder, don't you?" Megan accused hotly, feeling the all too familiar spark of rage ignite the flame that was the fire seed of her anger and her quick wit as one look into Lana's hard eyes told Maggie everything she needed to know.

"No," Lana Graham answered simply, her face remaining professionally neutral. She was unfazed by the girl's outburst of anger. "We don't. You get this look in your eyes whenever one of us mentions Alice by name. You cared about her, and you love her. Someone who cares for her as much as you do would not harm a hair on her head. Plus, no offense, but I can tell just by one look that you don't have a violent bone in your body, Miss Maggie Grunhild."

"Tell us about what happened," interjected Eve kindly, sensing impending danger as Lana's eyes narrowed the way they always did whenever her voice would change and become hard and clipped.

Megan inhaled and drew in a sharp breath that pained her lungs as she recollected the day she had been trying desperately to forget these last few weeks. The other counselors had been given a three day weekend off and had decided to make the most of their free time by venturing into town to first go out for ice cream before deciding they would explore the other side of the Black Lake woods.

The area, it was rumored, where Todd Baines drowned. But Megan knew better. All of it was real.

Megan tried hard to block out the swarm of visions and voices buzzing around her mind like a hive of angry bees, and doing a horrible job of it, because the memory came back to her anyways, suffocating.

A/N: And that's the end of this chapter. There's plenty more to Megan's story, most of which will be through flashbacks, but I didn't want to reveal too much all at once. Got to leave something for suspense, after all. Megan's story will be told sporadically scattered throughout the chapters. Next chapter will be back to Nancy and company.


	8. Todd Baines

Following her attempt to contact Megan Grunhild, Nancy found herself discouraged. Their only link so far in discovering what really happened to Alice Fredrickson, and the girl on the other end of the phone had sounded terrified beyond belief. Clearly, the counselor's murder had shaken her to her core, driven her away from Maine completely. Nancy couldn't blame her for that one, though. No way.

She had spent the better part of the afternoon with Frank and Joe wandering the campground aimlessly, trying to find any sort of—of clue, a lead, anything that might tell them who was behind the murders.

And what had they found? Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Not a damn thing.

Bess and George hadn't fared better. Much to their chagrin, when they'd reconvened later that evening around one of the campfire pits over a simple dinner of hot dogs with mustard, relish, and ketchup, the team of young amateur sleuths all came to the same conclusion: they were afraid. The people in these parts refused to talk, and they so much as clammed up when Nancy had tried to ask about the first boy that had drowned in Black Lake all those years ago. Todd Baines. That hadn't exactly gone over well, she could practically see their lips pursing into such a thin line that they almost disappeared, their brows raising so high in a furrow of disapproval that they seemed to vanish into their hairline. Whoever the young boy had been, he was something of a devil.

At least, that was the conclusion Nancy's mind had led her to. But it wasn't enough. They needed more info. Frustrated, Nancy let out a sigh and kicked at a pebble with her thick black boot, the pain in her ankle still flaring. She wished her ankle would just heal already so she could be out of this cursed forsaken thing and back to normal, but no dice.

"I can't believe we haven't found out anything," complained Bess, spiking another hot dog onto her roasting stick, setting it over the fire.

"It's really not surprising though, is it?" mumbled Joe through a mouthful of hot dog. "If I were in charge around here, I wouldn't want to let word gets out that a kid drowned under my watch. Ruins the rep and before you know it, the place is out of business for negligence. Lawsuits aplenty, and the laywers would have a field day."

His brother shot him a dark look. "Obviously," he grumbled under his breath, fumbling with the package of graham crackers and chocolate as he opened them, preparing to make s'mores for all of them. "What's our next move?" he asked, glancing towards Nancy for confirmation.

Nancy frowned, fiddling with a lock of her ponytail. "I don't like how uncooperative this place is. Not the camp, I—I mean in general. Haven't you noticed from the moment we arrived here; we're instantly treated like outsiders? It has to be Maine. It just has to. Don't ask me to explain it, Joe," she snapped, seeing the gleaming look in the younger Hardy brother's eyes. "I know what you're going to say. No, it's _not_ like one of those Stephen King books or movies you read so much. It's different. This place feels...well…cursed," she mumbled, sheepishly.

Frank stared at Nancy incredulously, with something akin to awe and wonderment in his dark eyes. "That was a statement I never thought I would hear the famous Nancy Drew utter once in my life."

She muttered a thanks under her breath as Frank handed her a s'more, piping hot and stuffed with gooey melted chocolate and marshmallow. Nancy took her time taking a bite and chewing and swallowing the piece before continuing, trying to formulate her thoughts. "I know, I know, it's silly. Ghosts are non-corporeal and shouldn't exist on this plane of existence, but when I was at the top of the lighthouse, I saw _something_. I can't explain this either, but I have a sinking feeling in my gut somehow that all this connected. The visit to North Carolina to find Baycroft's journal for Dr. Halstead and my dad, the trip up here. My mind just hasn't put together the missing pieces."

"What about your foot?" asked George, glancing downwards with a concerned look on her slim face. Her face through the flames of the roaring fire looked gaunt and haunted. "You almost _died_, Nancy Drew!"

Nancy rolled her eyes, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. "Don't remind me," she sighed, tucking her ponytail back over her shoulders and adjusting her favorite red and black Cardinals baseball cap. Everyone in her small circle of friends and acquaintances had expected her to be a fan of the Illinois Fighting Illini or Joliet Slammers or even the Windy City Thunderbolts, considering they were all from Illinois, but that wasn't the case. She'd been a fan of the St. Louis Cardinals ever since her father had taken her to her first ball game only a few years ago.

They'd wanted to get out of town for a couple days, and in between working on a case for a client, she and Carson had squeezed in the All-American pastime for an afternoon and had enjoyed every second of it.

"Does it still hurt?" Frank asked, the concern and worry evident in his tone and in his voice. Nancy chuckled and shook her head, though she knew that he had seen it. She was never good at lying to Frank.

"It…still twinges," she confessed, noticing the dark, withering look he shot her. "Nothing my pain medications can't handle, but I can't take them now! The side effects on the bottle says it will cause drowsiness, and around here, that's one thing I _cannot_ afford to be right now. Not with a killer on the loose snatching up counselors and murdering them. No, Frank, I need my wits about me for this case. Don't argue, Frank!"

"_Nancy_!" he cried, exasperated, thumping the palm of his hand to his forehead and dragging it slowly down his face in exasperation. "You heard what the doctor told us both. You have to take them to stay on top of the pain, or else it's going to be unmanageable for you, Nance!"

But Nancy continued to shake her head stubbornly, actively averting the gazes of all her friends around her, who were continuing to give them the same nonplussed and slightly frustrated look Frank was currently giving her. She knew she could be hardheaded at times, sure.

"I will take them once we've found out who's behind the killings," she snapped, her voice rising over the oncoming protests of the others. "For now, I'd like to try to find out more about the kid. Todd Baines."

"Who's asking?" came a gruff new voice from behind, startling all of them. Bess whirled around on the log on which she and George were perched. The man standing before them was older, in his late sixties.

His voice was deep, and Nancy could tell that he was the type that whenever he spoke, every head in the vicinity would turn. He had that rich, silky tone, slightly warbling with age, but still smooth. The man spoke as though he controlled the world, his experience seeping through. He briefly reminded Nancy of a stormy day, full of thunder.

The old man turned towards Joe. "Scoot over, won't you? Help an old man take a seat? I heard there was a bunch of kids runnin' around, asking after Baines. Won't get no response that way," he snorted. "You out of towners ought to know folks round these parts don't take kindly to outsiders. And to top that off, askin' about Todd?"

He clucked his tongue in mock disappointment, though his tone suggested just a hint of amusement, maybe even admiration.

_Oh, this one's definitely a Mainer if ever there was one_, she thought, amused. The way his jaw relaxed while speaking, and his accent. When the old man spoke, it was like a low roll of thunder. His words were always soft, but no one ignored what he said. It was like being told what to do by Samuel L. Jackson. You didn't think, you just did it, every time.

Joe frowned, brushing back his blond bangs out of his eyes, but obliged. "Who are you, the caretaker of this place?" he demanded hotly.

The old man nodded. "Ayuh. Groundskeeper. Name's Clifford but call me Cliff." The man who went by Cliff had a fringe of grey-white hair around his balding, mottled scalp. He had a wizened face and a back slightly hunched. With each movement there was the creak of old bones. He had the resigned look of one who knows that at his age life has stopped giving and only takes away. His skin was so dark that it almost perfectly blended into the night sky itself. The old man hunched over in his lounge chair, leaning closer to the fire, edging his hands towards the flames to warm them from the bitter evening. The light from the flames illuminated his tired, worn face, wrinkles boring deeply into his skin. His expression was of frustration and fatigue. The world seemed no place for this man; he had had enough. This man had stories to tell, experience danced on his lips like a curious child. And yet he stayed silent, those listless eyes just watching, not telling, fire adorning his skin. All it took was one quick look at the man's foggy blue eyes, hazy, and his cane for Nancy and the others to ascertain poor Cliff was blind. Shadows of light and dark were all that Cliff's eyes could detect. He knew day from night and proximity to a window on a sunny day. Occasionally, one of the other counselors, Helen, most of the time, would show him the smudge of the moon on a clear summer's night. Without colors in his world, he loved texture, temperature, and fragrance. Beyond that, he needed to touch, to be touched in order to feel alive. That's why when he reached over and laid a withering, slightly trembling hand on George's arm, she looked momentarily startled, but, unable to detect any sense of malice or deceit in the gesture, she relaxed and lost the tenseness in her slim shoulders.

Cliff chuckled as he glanced around at the group of late teenagers.

"What, you lot so numb you forgot your own names? Well?" His tone was harsh, slightly grating, though his blue blind eyes twinkled.

Bess was the first to recover. "Uh, I'm Bess, this is my cousin George, the guys over there are Frank and Joe Hardy, and the one asking about Baines is detective Nancy Drew, sir," she squeaked shyly.

"Detective, eh?" Cliff asked, shifting his weight to his other foot, tapping his cane as he felt the ground beneath his feet. "You gonna be like all the other cops that come down this way? Look round for five minutes before decidin' it's a lost cause and leaving? I sure hope not."

Nancy shook her head. "No, sir. This place has me so curious, I wouldn't leave even if I _could_," she sighed, glancing down at her broken foot. Plus, Frank had the car keys and there was no way on this green earth he would leave without trying to help these poor unfortunate people. "These murders, the victims deserve justice for what happened. I aim to see whoever is responsible for this crime put behind bars, sir."

Though Cliff could not see her, his blind eyes were fixated directly in Nancy's direction, making her feel slightly uneasy. He fumbled with one of the straps of his coveralls and clasped his hands together, leaning forward in his seat. "So…" he drawled, his Maine accent thick and heavy. "You're the lass who's been askin' after Todd Baines, huh?"

"Yes, sir," Nancy answered immediately, glancing sideways at Frank, who was choosing to remain silent, though she could see it in his eyes, that he too wasn't quite sure what to make of the newcomer.

As the sun went down, the fire became bright and vivid, as though someone had shown a spotlight on it. The intensity and excitement of the flames was like they were dancing in the moonlight. The Black Lake nearby had the reflection of a distant glow, like a bright sun on land.

The colors were brilliant reds, oranges, and faint yellows. Warm.

Cliff made a point of tapping on his watch, feeling it. Nancy craned her neck forward just slightly, taking note of the man's braille watch. "Welp, I'm an old man and got nothin' left to do, so why the hell not. You want to know about Baines, I'll tell you. Gory, but you gonna wish I'd never said. Too late now though. I can tell by the tones in your voice little miss, you ain't gonna quit pesterin' folks until you get the scoop. You sure you're not a reporter, cause you're actin' like one, but then I guess reporters and detectives ain't so far off the beaten path from one another. Eleven fifty-five. Almost midnight. Enough time for a ghost story before twelve. Just to keep us warm," he began, and Nancy felt a tremor of fear go down her spine. His voice was like the magma chamber of a volcano, deep, but filled entirely with the molten rock. His voice could be powerful enough to make your bones feel like they were vibrating. When he spoke, everyone would turn, whether they knew him or not. His voice was just so deep, so full... "In five minutes, it will be the twenty-first of September. Ten years ago, on the twenty-first of September, one young man's life was drastically changed forever when the fog rolled in on the Black Lake. Was on this day, around oh, I don't know, ten at night, well past the hour when most respectable kids your age ought to be out decided to go for a swim, but the damn fog clouded up their vision. For a moment, they could see nothing. Not a foot ahead of them. But then, they saw a light. By God, it was a fire, burning on the lakebed's shore. Baines, as I'm sure you've found out by now, was one of the kids. Gawmy boy, he was. I remember the Baines boy well."

"What was he like?" Nancy pressed, unable to keep down the intrigue and excitement from seeping into her voice. This was perhaps their first lead since the failed attempt at contacting Megan Grunhild.

Cliff's blank gaze unnerved Nancy greatly. He sighed and looked at her with those blue eyes touched by storm clouds. She had never seen any emotion in them other than contempt. But now they embraced the wind. A brief gust before returning to a calm sea. Unnerving and cold.

"That boy was…different, to put it politely. Messed up in the head, deformed, he didn't have too many physical problems, but mentally" he began uneasily, hesitating. He turned his head sharply to the left for a moment, and Nancy could practically see the blue prominent veins in his neck throbbing as whatever he was thinking of was weighing heavily on his mind. "Wasn't right, what they done to him. The boy grew up in a troubled household, his parents a buncha deadbeats, beat the boy senseless as far as I know. As a result, damaged his brain and did somethin' to him. Messed up his face really good, his daddy did, during a drinking episode, believe it. Kid was around your age when he was killed. The boy's damn brain was an extinguished fire. Once it burnt bright, and he knew happiness. I could see a future for that kid, if only his parents weren't such messes. But in his life, in those…ashes, if you will, there was nothin' to even renew a spark. You could see it when you looked in his eyes, it was like the world wasn't really there at all, like it was stolen an' replaced with somethin' empty, fake, like those faked magazine photos you always see in the stores."

Frank, sensing Nancy's discomfort, felt his hand move involuntarily toward Nancy's lap and settled there. Bess and George noticed it, at first exchanging a momentary look of delight amongst themselves, but then their smiles faltered. The two detectives were so engrossed in the story Cliff was telling them that they did not notice, but Joe Hardy noticed.

Joe's eyes met Bess and George's and the two women nodded.

He didn't need to say a word or try to justify his brother's actions. He had known all along that Frank had fancied Nancy, even before Ned Nickerson had come into their lives, and he'd always hoped his brother would one day tell Nan how he felt about her, if not for her, then his sake. Joe was getting rather tired of hearing Frank pine after Nancy, day in and day out. He'd been through for her through thick and thin.

He was there during her breakup, fights with Ned, all the bad stuff.

_It's like screaming but no one can hear_, he thought, feeling his eyes settle on George, the more reasonable of the two. More level-headed, though Bess was always observant and, thanks to her looks, fantastic at wheedling information out of people (especially guys!) who didn't want to be cooperative and divulge the necessary information needed to help.

Bess gave a little curt nod and looked to her cousin_. You almost feel so ashamed, that someone could be that important, that without them, you feel like nothing. No one will understand how much it hurts. She feels hopeless, like nothing can save her. And when it's over, and it gone, you almost wish that you could have all that bad stuff back, so that you could have the good. That's what's going on with Nancy now. _

Joe gave a tiny little nod, filing away that silent conversation to be addressed later, and did his best to return to his attention to the story.

Cliff coughed once to clear his throat and continued, his voice warbling slightly. "In the movies, drowning is loud and splashy, someone yells and waves their arms, they dip below the water and come up all dramatic like, while those on the shore scramble to rescue them."

George helped herself to another s'more and piped up. "But his wasn't like that, I take it?" she asked through a mouthful of marshmallow and chocolate and graham cracker. "His was messy…"

The old man nodded. "Ayuh. I've been the groundskeeper here for years, an' I can tell you that that particular scenario has never happened. Drowning is quiet, their movements are subtle, they rarely make any noise at all. One minute, their head is bobbing above the water and then gone. Someone can go in the time it takes you to check a text from your man. The Baines boy was the only kid this place ever lost on my watch as groundskeeper, young, twenty something, more bravado than sense. The counselors weren't paying no mind to him. I was there when they pulled his lifeless body up the on the lake shore, water-logged and blue. I had never really liked dead people - their deathly white skin pulled tight against their bones, their eyes open wide, staring bloody murder at me forever. Not that I didn't respect them, I just sort of preferred them inside a sealed coffin under the ground, never to come back up again. Yup. I had no problem with corpses if they were nowhere near me. That day, though… Poor Todd. At the bottom of the lake lay the boy, his lungs filled with grimy, murky lake water, his eyes open, staring into the darkness. And above, as suddenly as it had come, the fog lifted, receded back into the lake, and never came again. But it is told by the folks that live in these parts when the bloody fog returns to the Black Lake, Todd Baines rises again, and searches for the counselors that led him to his dark, icy death. So, I tell these counselors, there's nothing macho about drowning, always tie a float to your leg when you swim out, gives you something to hold onto if you get a cramp. S'far as I know, the kids that done it weren't caught. Boy's death was ruled an accident, and nobody was charged. I know better though. _Murder_." Cliff finished and felt his watch again. "Twelve o' clock. Midnight on the dot, just as I said. Watch yourselves out here."

"September twenty-first," Nancy whispered, her voice barely audible as Cliff groaned as he rose to his feet, wincing at the arthritis in his joints. "Has anybody ever seen him since his drowning? Baines? Where did they take his body? Name of the morgue? Does he have a grave nearby? If he does, I'd like to go look at it?" she asked.

Cliff chuckled as she rattled off her list of questions. "Knew I was right to like you, girlie. You ask questions. No, no one's seen him. Not since boy was dead, though rumor has it what's-her-name, one of the counselors here claimed to see something, right before that other girl's head was takin' off. What a bloody mess _that_ was, lemme tell you. Well, I'd better be off. You'll see me round the place from time to time, don't be shy, but my go-to spot is the diner just up the road. Little Mom and Pop place. Come by if you ever want a cuppa joe and a good chat. Tell you all you want to know about Baines, since I seem to be the only one in these parts willin' to talk about the poor soul. If you're lucky, maybe you can manage to find the little lass that says she saw him. Worth a shot, wouldn't you say, detective? Maybe she'll tell you, if you ask." Cliff murmured sadly, shaking his head in disgust. "Well, I'm off. Night."

"_Megan_," Frank spoke up quietly, giving Nancy's shoulder a gentle squeeze. They waved their goodbyes to Cliff. "We've got to get her back here, Nancy. You've got to try to reach her again. Call her tomorrow."

Nancy nodded, knowing that now, after what they'd just learned, they had no choice. She would have to try again a second time. She could not help but feel an oncoming sense of dread, like something bad was about to happen that was out of her control. This despair she was feeling was like a heady blackness; the ways forward she had thought possible vanished to black, not blocked, but like they weren't there at all. The notion of hope to her had become rather meaningless recently.

The young sleuth didn't know if these dark feelings were attributed to her recent breakup with Ned or not, but if she had to hazard a guess, she would say so. If her mind lingered on such ideas that it was all Ned's fault, it started to feel like some kind of a cruel trick, that maybe it was her fault after all, that she was somehow to blame for everything. It felt as cruel as any desert mirage while deprived of water for days. The bonds she had, like the ones she had with her friends, with Frank, the ones that continued to keep her heart beating, even now felt thinner, and even now they were a terrible weight upon her shoulders. To love them was to care for them all, and for them to care for her. Yet what she felt was to come would bring no comfort, least of all her. Nancy was always going to have to play the part of a traitor. A traitor to grief, especially when it came to being the bearer of bad news, as she spoke the words of condolence, for the flicker of their eyelids, the tensing of their hands and facial muscles, for the unwise words, for any sign that for someone involved in all this, this might not be news at all, but she was going to have to talk to Megan Grunhild. She was the only one so far who knew what happened, so she had to find a way to talk to the former counselor, no matter what the cost.

It was time for Megan to come home.


	9. What Happened at the Carnival

A/N: I apologize for the delay in posting a new chapter, I'm trying to map this one out since it's long, about the length as my other stories, _Harvest Festival_ _Main Street_, so I'm trying to take my time in terms of pacing. Don't want to go too fast or too slow, so it's a challenge as regard to how fast to take things, but I think I'm getting the hang of things by now. I appreciate your patience and plenty of action is coming, I promise. There's a lot I have planned, and I want to make sure I tell it right, starting with our other young heroine of the story, Megan "Maggie" Grunhild, who still has a pretty big role to play yet.

There are a few surprises in store in this chapter. Enjoy! :)

* * *

Megan stared around at Lana Graham's office in wonderment. Never in her life had she seen anything quite as immaculate.

The mahogany desk with three drawers in the middle, her swivel chair, a rather cushy-looking, well-padded armchair, no doubt for her 'guests' when she was conducting an interview. Her Mac Book Pro, several stacks of paperwork, pens in a mug with a gold lettered L on the front of the cup, a floor to ceiling bookshelf, books leaning against one another in different directions, a filling cabinet with paperwork stacked on top, a water dispenser with cups, a mini fridge and a microwave.

_The works_, she thought in awe as she stared around, fidgeting with her nails, already cut down short to the quick and painted hot pink.

Their leftovers from Tico's had been placed in the mini fridge to keep them cool until it was time for Eve to take Megan back to her place, a time which was yet to be determined. Only Lana knew that. Megan knew she wouldn't be allowed to leave until she told them everything. She had no choice. The young blonde let out a huff of frustration and brushed her bangs out of her eyes. "Where shall I start?"

Lana flipped back through a packet of paperwork, undoubtedly looking like a copy of the police report, with her own notes in the mix. There was no back wall to the interview room, also Lana's office, only tempered glass. Megan was expecting it to appear blackened as it did from the outside, yet it was crystal clear with the most stunning panorama of the city, the trees below like the ones on her father's miniature train table. She tried to smile but a twitch was all she managed, as she focused on the two people at the table, blue and shinier than a summertime lake. Each one of them looked her way just as friendly as a kindly relative, yet still her insides contracted like the air were an arctic flow, leaving her feeling cold and empty inside. Frozen.

"Why don't you start at the beginning? This story on the Black Lake Killer is a nine-part interview, Miss Grunhild, just so you're aware."

"We have to do this _nine_ more times?" Megan breathed, not wanting to believe it. "I—I don't know if I can do this, Miss Graham," she said.

Choosing to ignore her protests, Lana continued her absentminded flipping of the papers, her rimless glasses perched on top of her nose.

"You are aware this piece I'm writing on the notorious Black Lake serial killer, one that I've decided to title 'Man of Sorrow' is the feature story of the _entire_ year of 2020, don't you, Miss Grunhild? It will be printed in _all_ the major magazines nationwide, and even now as we speak, we've a documentary crew working on filming it?" she asked.

"Yes," answered Megan, feeling and hearing her voice go on the defensive as she fidgeted in the doorway, her Ralphany purse still slung over her shoulder. Eve was sitting in the corner, smoothing down the front of her black pencil skirt and the sleeves of her maroon silk blouse.

She gestured silently with a little jerk of her head for Megan to take the armchair. When she didn't, Eve let out a weary sigh. "Have a seat."

Deciding it was pointless to argue, Megan obliged, though not without shooting a dark look towards Lana's way. She didn't like her. If she was disgusted with the distinguished reporter, she couldn't help it.

Megan wondered as she glanced at Lana from across the desk, where she sat in that designer swivel chair waiting for her answer, what disgusted the reporter. If she listened to that little voice of repulsion.

Maybe, just maybe, it was there for a reason. _So, tell me, Miss Graham, what makes your skin crawl? What's repellant to you? Do you enjoy watching it, in movies, on TV? Reading it in the stories you print? Why? If she's honest with herself, she won't like the answer_.

Lana continued. "My investigative reporting is award winning, Miss Grunhild. Once the story is published and aired on the network, it will give the public a rarely seen glimpse of the natures of good and evil in our society today. Did you know that I've been looking into Todd Baines? He's our number one suspect as to who is behind these killings," she said, peering at Megan through her rimless glasses.

"N—no," stammered Megan. She could practically feel her face draining of color, and a quick glance to the left at the full-length mirror hanging on the wall confirmed that suspicion. Her face was very white, the color of a moonbeam, or an ivory carving. A snowy face, very beautiful, like a snow queen's in a fairy tale. Her hands, too, were bone-white, but soft and elegant, as pale hands often are. She looked like a porcelain doll-you worried that she'd shatter if she fell. Megan's eyes drifted upwards and lingered there. With makeup, she no longer had her mother's blue eyes. It was her eyes she feared, the cold blue, windows into nothing at all. She had drawn a pretty line in deep espresso over the top and the thinnest layer below—that alone was enough to make it bearable to look in the mirror and take those eyes to be her own, and not that of her mother's. Megan guessed she should thank her for being slightly overweight too, that way she had even more motivation to stay slim throughout her life, and healthier too besides.

Lana reached for her coffee mug and took a sip. The latte, as usual, was over-priced and at first, Lana found it bitter. It sat prettily in her coffee mug, a leaf pattern in delicate milky foam among the pale brown.

She wrapped her manicured fingers around it, enjoying the heat that spread through her aching hands from typing up the first installment of her report on the Notorious Black Lake Killer, many of whom believed to be Todd Baines, come back from the dead after ten years buried.

Lana Graham took another sip, still bitter, but only babies asked for hot chocolate or syrup. She took a bigger sip, and this time, let the warm liquid sit on her tongue for longer. There was flavor there, and once accustomed to the bitterness, it stepped forth rather shyly.

It was this undertone that was so apparent in the aroma, she couldn't smell bitterness and so in the warm air coming from the little café built into the QTV building just a few doors down from her own office, it was just as heady as the smells of baking bread, rich and sweet.

Lana, without a word, tossed what looked to be a draft of the magazine, its own single-version issue, part one of nine installments.

"Read that in your spare time tonight when you go home. I have reason to believe that Mr. Baines is behind all these _gruesome_ killings."

Megan nodded, flipping it open to the first page and began to read aloud the first paragraph. "It is no accident that it is the reptile, the snake, that symbolizes evil in our myths. For these creatures do not require love to raise their young like mammals do. As such, they do not evolve an ability to feel love, only to survive. Likewise, the psychopath does not feel love, they are an evolutionary throw-back to our reptilian brains, an accident of genetics. But if we do not take the threat of them seriously, they will continue to dominate our world, driving us into hell.

Much like the notorious serial killer, Todd Baines did to Bangor, Maine throughout the years of 2007 to present. No one could have guessed that the charming little boy, born to parents Jim and Rachel Baines, would have grown up to terrorize the city of Bangor and would one day stalk innocent people like a wolf stalking a wounded lamb and kill several dozens of innocent young men and women at Black Lake."

Megan finished the first paragraph and flipped the magazine draft shut. She would read it later, but for now, she had to tell Lana everything. It was, after all, the deal she had made with the reporter.

She tucked a wisp of stray blonde hair behind her ear and squirmed uncomfortably in her seat, kicking her sandals off and pulling her legs up onto the seat of the armchair to sit cross-legged, Indian style.

If she was going to be here a while, she might as well get comfortable. If Lana Graham objected, she uttered not a word.

"What makes you think Todd Baines is behind the murders?" Megan asked, unable to quell her curiosity any longer. She swallowed nervously and took a moment to roll the magazine up and slide it into her purse, making a mental note to read it later tonight, maybe after dinner but well before bed so she would hopefully not have nightmares.

Lana smirked, and Megan was greatly unnerved by the smile. "People _love_ a good ghost story, Miss Graham, and in a town like Bangor, Maine, especially one secluded out the wilderness like that camp is, is bound to have its secrets. Secrets that you, my dear, know."

"But I don't know who's behind these attacks! I'm sure you already know this, but Todd Baines is _dead_! Dead and buried, and if it turns out that you're wrong as to the culprit of the murders, you and all these…_articles_ are going to look like utter morons!" she protested, feeling the panic begin to creep its way up into her throat from the pit of her stomach and form a knot in her throat, making it hard to swallow.

"Maybe not," Eve piped up from her corner chair, shuffling her own stack of papers. "But while you were enrolled at Waverly Academy during your senior year, you wrote a thesis paper on Mr. Baines' life."

_Oh, no_, she thought, and repressed the urge to let out a groan. She had had a sinking feeling that sooner or later that paper would come back to haunt her. "W—well, y—yes," she fumbled, cursing herself for not being able to find the right words, "b—but just because I have a fascination for the weird and macabre things doesn't mean that I had—"

"We're not saying you had anything to do with Alice's death," Eve interrupted before Maggie could so much as fire off another explanation. "Just…tell us what happened to you the night of the carnival. That's where it all started, right? That's what the police report says, said the call came from your cell phone, which the signal was traced back to the empty fairgrounds parking lot, and later, they found your car abandoned, and no sign of you until the cops discovered you and your friend in the old abandoned barn a few miles down the way."

Megan let out a deep, shuddering breath, steeling her nerves.

"Okay…It all started on August 28th, of last month, you know…"

* * *

"Mags? Maggie? Are you listening to me? You aren't, are you!" Alice Fredrickson's voice, usually quite kind and shy, was now irate and annoyed, snapped Maggie out of her daydreaming with a jolt.

Megan, though she insisted her friends call her Maggie, glanced up from the salon chair she was currently inhabiting and turned her head to meet Alice's glare, whose arms were folded across her chest and she was looking annoyed with the younger girl, though there was no escaping the amusement in Alice's light brown eyes.

Every four weeks like clockwork, she visited the local salon in Bangor, rain or shine, always on a Friday, to get her mousey brown roots dyed blonde and her short pixie cut maintained by the clippers.

Her stylist, Emily, was in the middle of a relationship rant. She punctuated each word with angry snaps of the scissors. Hunks of blonde hair flew past Maggie's ear. "Um, isn't that a little short?" squeaked Megan softly, her voice barely above a whisper, but her stylist apparently wasn't listening.

"...And then he says he's thinking about leaving me!" Emily yelled, setting down the scissors at last and turned the swivel chair around so Maggie faced the mirror and winced. When your hairdresser winces, it's never a good sign. Maggie's blonde pixie in the front was so incredibly short, clumps of hair stood up like tufts of grass, and her bangs were shorter than ever. Emily opened her mouth to speak.

"Don't you _dare_ tell me it'll grow out," Maggie growled darkly as Emily removed the cape. She sighed, running a hand through her now brutally short cut, hoping to fix it with her fingers. Emily grabbed the spray bottle of water and wetted down the parts that stood up and combed it down flat.

Emily let out a nervous chuckle. "I was just going to say it's a good thing the military look is in this year." Maggie sighed, not wanting to start an argument as she reached for her purse to pull out her wallet with the sloths on it. Emily noticed and snorted as she handed the stylist her debit card to pay for her haircut. Emily continued, hoping to make her favorite client feel well. "It's a good thing you have the face for short hair, Mags. You're like, naturally pretty. A tiny Tinkerbell!" She laughed, swiping Maggie's card through the card reader and handing her the receipt for her to sign. "The day I ever have short hair like that is the day I die," Emily joked. She frowned, turning her head slightly and tapping her chin thoughtfully. "By the way, I think you girls have a secret admirer. While I was cutting your hair, Mags, I saw someone watching you. A man, I think. Couldn't tell what he looked like, he was too far away, but he's gone now. If you go out, be safe."

_A man? Is it Troy?_ Maggie wondered, not sure what to think of this. Maggie and Alice shared a concerned look, their brows knitted together in confusion. "We will," Alice piped up, grabbing her purse and standing from her chair, stretching and wincing at the stiffness in her legs. She gave Megan's pixie a quick scrutinizing look before giving a curt little nod of approval. "It's definitely shorter than you've ever had it, but I like the look on you. I think Troy will too," she teased.

Maggie felt her cheeks flush hot at the mention of her new boyfriend, Troy Wright, as they stepped out of the salon and down towards the park, where the tinkling tones of a nearby ice cream truck could be heard. They had been dating now for just under a month, something of a record for Maggie Grunhild. Usually by the third date, most guys claimed she was too much to handle and bailed on her by now. But not Troy. He had seen something in Maggie, something different than he had dared to want to take a chance on, volatile temper and all, courtesy of her shouting matches whenever she was home alone with her parents. The two of them were meeting for ice cream in a few minutes, and Troy had expressed interest in taking her to the state fair.

Maggie said her goodbyes to Alice, not knowing then that was to be the last time she ever saw her friend. Though before Alice departed, she turned, giving her best friend one final glance over her shoulder. She gave the young blonde a look that she could not quite place but had no time to dwell on it as Alice got in her car and drove off, leaving Maggie.

The young blonde was left outside a nearby café, waiting for Troy to pick her up so they could walk to the summer county fair together.

She caught sight of her reflection in a nearby shop window and stared, running her hands through her blonde pixie, now boyishly short. Maggie let out a sigh and rummaged through her magenta pink Ralphany purse for her cell phone. Still no message from Troy.

Her cell phone chirped in her purse. Fully prepared to demand her boyfriend provide her with a damn good excuse for as to why he was now going on fifteen minutes late, she dug it out, seeing it was her home number. Frowning, she pressed the green 'Accept' button on her iPhone 7 screen. "What's up, Nicky?" she asked wearily, knowing she would be in for quite the conversation. Her brother was a handful.

"Hey, Mags. Did you know the Romans used to brush their teeth with their own urine? Yeah, apparently it—it worked. Learned that in history today. Teacher told me not to say anything too weird. But I didn't call to tell you that. Ma's left me and Ray alone again, and I'm freaking dying, Mags! Ray's good on food, he's only two, but not me!"

Maggie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger as she shifted her weight to her other foot, leaning against the brick wall of the antique shop while she scanned the late afternoon crowd, hoping to spot any sign of Troy so they could hit up the carnival.

"No, you're not. You're just hungry," she explained, trying her hardest not to laugh as she could practically hear his stomach growling through the other end of the speaker. "What's there to eat at home?"

"She didn't leave me anything! Mom never does, she's always out!" The words tumbled rapidly but cautiously out of his mouth, each one wrapped in a heavy Maine accent. They seemed to have echoed from the roof of his mouth, spreading their warmth everywhere. When Nicky spoke, his words were so clear, clearer than crystal-clear water. It was this speech, this accent that immediately set him and his big sister apart from everyone else, that made him seem as different as he was and that too in a good way. Nick Grunhild was a good kid, if not a little bit of a neat freak and slightly OCD, but then again, these things weren't so bad. Not with their parents' history of violence and mental illness.

"Maggie, I'm dying!" he moaned, and as he moved throughout their house, she could hear his cast from his broken foot where he'd fallen climbing a tree in their backyard up to his little tree house making a loud clunking noise as he wandered through their kitchen in search of food.

"You are not dying, Nicky. Just hungry. Why don't you check in the freezer, make some of those Totino Pizza Rolls you love so damn much? How you eat those, I don't even know. They're gross in my opinion, but it's better than starving, I guess. Make a bag of those, and if she doesn't come home within…" She checked the clock on her phone, "three hours, then you call the cops and you make sure she gets home to you. If she doesn't respond when you call, you give me a call, Nicky, got that? You call me and just say the word; I'll drive over there and come and get you and Ray. You can both come stay with me. I'll move into a little apartment and we can share it. We'll make it work out somehow."

"I don't—oh, here they are!" he exclaimed, sounding immensely relieved as he pulled out the bag of frozen pizza rolls from the freezer. "Thanks, sis! Saving my bacon, yet again. Be glad you're away for the summer, it gets real Game of Thrones around here with Ma's new guy."

"You'd starve without me, Nick, and you know it," she joked lightly. All joking aside as soon as her giggling fit had passed, Nick responded.

"Just wanted to say I missed you, is all," he mumbled.

She was touched. "I miss you too, Nicky. Be home soon, I promise. My first break is coming up in a few weeks, can you make it to Christmas without getting on Ma's nerves or burning the place down again?"

Nick groaned. "Once! ONE TIME! I—I didn't know you weren't supposed to put metal in the microwave!" Maggie laughed.

"I told you putting the metal fork in the microwave wouldn't send our house thirty years into the future. You ought to count yourself lucky Dad only whooped your ass the one time, Nick. You watch too much TV, Nicky; it'll rot your brain. You should read books more! Bye, Nicky, behave yourself. Love you, see you over Christmas break, hopefully sooner, though, if I can swing a drive over there." Still chuckling over their conversation, she ended the call and plunked her cell phone back into the main compartment of her favorite purse, a dark rosy pink messenger crossbody made out of nylon and polyester, with plenty of zippers and pockets for her things, the Riley from the Ralphany collection. It displayed her love of pink, emphasized with the glittery bejeweled pink and purple butterfly key chain. She thought of the others, their little group of friends. Alice, Maggie, Greg…

_My friends, they leave home with their parents begging them to stay, mine showed me nothing but indifference_. This thought from the young high school graduate, hoping to transfer colleges soon, who stood in the café's deli line, anxiously waiting for her order, her ticket in her hand, mulling over her thoughts.

After over ten years, Maggie Grunhild and her little brothers, Nicky and two-year-old Ray Grunhild, was just another mouth to feed. It wasn't like this when Teddy left to go off to college and make something of himself, the precious first-born. The rising superstar Grunhild man. Maggie hadn't spoken to Teddy in six years. For Teddy, there were tears, parcels of food, and promises to send money to ease his transition. She guessed it was her fault she never aced any math tests, won tennis matches or grew over six feet tall. It didn't matter that she excelled in writing or drama, that her short stories had won two contests on the Internet and were published in a book of short stories, earning her some prize money, most of which she had used to take her and Nicky to Busch Gardens on vacation this year.

No, her parents were all about Ted. The golden child.

The divorce had happened a year ago, and her mother had gotten custody of both Nicky and Ray, much to his disdain. He had protested violently the move from northern Maine to the eastern part, closer to the coastline, Maggie tagging along only to keep an eye on Ray and Nicky. She didn't trust her mother to look after the boys with her habits. Ray Grunhild was a kid with special needs. Their parents had always told Maggie and her brothers that they loved them both and she took them at their word. Over the years, her parents, like it or not, had become part of the bedrock of her personality. Then one sunny day, under a cloudless sky in May, their father announced that he was in love with someone else and he and Kelly would be getting a divorce that year. It would have been kinder to kill her.

Now, Maggie was forced to be this person, this girl filled with a bitterness she couldn't control, a vile black hatred in her heart. Kelly and John's daughter was now consumed by a hatred she never knew could take root. But here it is. Here she was. Maggie and Ray were yesterday's news, and their dad's new woman was the belle of the ball. He held her round the waist while her kids get their boots on to visit him. All the while she was forced to smile and make small talk, pretend to be happy for her parents. Her hatred didn't ebb. It multiplied. Viciously. Maggie would swear if she ever chose to have children, any future kids she might have one day would never be trophies.

They would be people and she would love them, give them what Maggie never had. The only sound as she left that year was the door banging behind her, caught by the wind, and accidental though it was, she was glad for the noise. It punctuated her big exit, the biggest full stop of her young life, nothing but a blank page ahead, a fresh start as she left for college as a transfer student to major in English, Creative Writing, to be precise, with the intent to minor in psychology. Nick had been the only one who didn't want her to leave, begging and pleading with his big sister to stay, to not leave him alone with their mother and two-year-old brother. Forcing thoughts of her little brother out of her mind for now, she returned her mind back to the present.

A few hours ago, Maggie's stomach growled. Now though, it was silent. She was past the growling point. She felt a sinking emptiness, like a part of her was gone and she needed to get it back. She was tired and couldn't focus.

How was it possible that she ate breakfast just six hours ago, and a snack three hours ago?

Maggie glanced at her wallet after some jackass had joked about the sloths, seeing nothing wrong with it as she sauntered over to a nearby food stand to purchase a hot dog from a vendor. It often got compliments whenever she took it out to pay for something; it was a good conversation starter. Her little brother, Nicky, had gifted it to her last Christmas.

Probably her favorite thing she owned. It was a small zipper wallet depicting an adorable family of sloths hanging on tree branches, sleeping, cuddling with their babies. With embossed printing and the leaf shaped clasp to finish off the adorable design, he hadn't gone wrong in picking out his big sister's Christmas gift last year, did he? She snapped it open, pulling out her purple and orange Discover credit card to pay for her lunch. The wallet was small, only five credit card slots, a clear plastic ID window, and a large money pocket slit. When she flipped it over and unzipped the back, there were two larger compartments for her change and receipts. Maggie sighed as she inserted her credit card into the card reader's slot to pay for her hot dog, the way she liked it, loaded with ketchup, mustard, and relish, waving a cheerful hello to another camp counselor on leave for their three-day weekend that entered the counter behind her, mumbling a hello.

"Hi, Troy, see you later," she said distractedly, putting her card back into her wallet's card slot and plunking her wallet back into her purse. She hoisted her purse over her shoulder, her lunch sack in one hand and put on her aviator sunglasses, stepping out into the world, away from the bustle and noise of the lunch crowd.

Maggie gave a shy little wave to Troy and waved.

He had waited long enough, damn it. Tonight was it. He would tell her how he felt. His skin tingled still where she had touched him earlier, her arm had brushed against his thigh when she excused herself to head to her next class. Troy's heart beat erratically in his chest so hard that he thought it might fly out. He did not deny that it felt great, though. He liked it. Troy finally admitted to himself what he knew all along but had been fighting against it. He liked her. A lot. And he wanted to be with her. Tonight, was the night.

Maggie Grunhild had no idea what she did to him, none whatsoever. However, she would learn. She taunted him like clockwork every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, with her bewitching beauty when she would sit at her usual café table outside, always the same time, eight sharp, and she would work on her laptop or bring a book, sitting at the table at the corner underneath the umbrella.

Steeling himself, he could see his friend now. Her back was facing him as she stood in the café's line, an immense wave of students, ordering something to take out to her usual table, no doubt, where she would sit for the next two hours before packing up her things and heading back to her dorms, where she would no doubt stay up late gossiping with Annie O'Shea about their various classes at the community college they all attended while they waited for their acceptance letters to their colleges of choice. Maggie was something of a genius, and had graduated high school early, now almost nineteen in a few more months, was waiting to hopefully go to Syacruse or Harvard.

"Thanks, Gena, see you tomorrow for my usual donut," she joked, mumbling to the cashier at the front, turning around and shooting Troy a brief but dazzling white smile, and for a moment, he was very confused. Troy paused, his brain screaming at him to follow after her, his dark thoughts slowly creeping into his brain at the thoughts of other guys talking to his woman, but he irritably waved them away, earning a quizzical look from the girl behind the counter.

"Can I help you, sir? What can I get for you? Coffee, tea?" she said.

"Nothing. Uh, no thanks, I—I'm just leaving," he stammered, quickly bolting before any more questions could be asked. The last thing he needed right now was to draw attention to himself. He found her outside at her usual table, her simple brown smocked maxi dress flattering to her figure, her legs crossed, and he could see her brown sandals that she wore were simple, revealing hot pink painted toenails.

A half-eaten donut in her hand, a huge cup of coffee in the other as she poured over the latest pages of her book, this one the latest James Patterson. _The Beach House_. When she spoke to him, her voice was quiet, soft, like a soft summer breeze, soothing and calm. "Troy! How are you? Here I was, beginning to think you were standing me up. You're twenty minutes late! The hell?" she joked, without even having to look up from the chapter she was reading. "Troy, I knew that was you by your shadow, you're tall enough. And it's your hair; I don't know anyone else on campus that has blond wavy hair like you do. What do you want?" she said shyly, not even having to look up behind her to know who it was as he tapped her on the shoulder. Maggie turned around at last; giving him that confused little half-smile of hers that he always found so adorable, cautious but still friendly enough, he almost lost it. She raised her eyebrows at Troy, wanting to know what he wanted with her, why he was interrupting her reading time alone. "Did you want something, Troy? Did you want help with your college application?"

_You. And I want you_, he tried to say, but his words failed him. "No. You uh…" he started to say, but his words just would not come out. God, she was just too perfect. Almost like one of God's angels…Her face was thin and oblong shaped. Her short blonde hair flattering to her elfin like features, her slender perfect little nose drove him nuts. Finally, he sighed, holding out her little black sloth wallet he had stolen from the open pocket of her pink purse. He knew she was incredibly fond of it and would do anything to get it back. Like go on a date with him. It had been way too easy for him to swipe it out of the bag's second pocket, keeping his smile to himself as her eyes widened and she immediately reached for it, overturning her chair in her haste to get up from her spot, but he held it high above his head, way out of Grunhild's reach, shooting her a little smile and then he knew he had her. "No, no, no, I don't think so, Mags," he teased, shooting her a charming smile, one he knew she wouldn't be able to resist. They all fell for it. "It's mine."

"What the hell? I could have sworn I put that back in my purse's pocket! How the hell did you get it, Troy? You stole it, didn't you? Don't give me that look. I'm not stupid! I know you stole it, Troy! Give me my wallet back, Troy! Please, T, don't do this. You know Nicky gave that to me last year for Christmas, how much it means to me, so stop, quit this fooling around and give it back to me!" she protested, leaping out of her chair and straining to reach it. Troy, however, was a few feet taller than she was, so there was no way she was getting it back until he saw fit to return it. Her friend let his eyes slide over her body, adding up her pluses and minuses like a mathematical equation. She was a ten, the only ten he had ever known in his life, almost no flaws whatsoever.

The young woman that stood in front of him could have graced any billboard or magazine cover, but she was better than those two-dimensional photo shopped models. Somehow, her imperfections made her perfect to Troy Wright. There was shyness to Maggie Grunhild, hesitation in her body movements and a soft quietness in her voice. She was right there, in front of him, her body pressing up against his as she struggled to regain possession of her precious wallet, but in her understated glamor, she might as well be on the television or a girl in a music video. His future girlfriend and hopefully one day in the distant future, eventually wife, was the kind of girl that women loved to hate.

She was an adult at twenty-three, but so young that she still had the exuberance of youth. She had the movie star look, not overly tall, but willowy, thin, petite and figure. She walked with the confidence of someone a decade older. She was not just flawless in her bone structure, her figure, her skin was like silk over glass, and she radiated an intelligent beauty like no other girl.

"I didn't steal it, Maggie, I'm offended you would think me a thief. You left it out on the counter when you paid and forgot to grab it. I'm doing the polite thing and returning it. Uh-uh, I don't think so, Grunhild. You forgot it, Mags!" he joked, noticing the light in her eyes seemed to ignite at the use of her nickname, something she reserved only for close knit family and her friends, of which he was both. "But what do I get out of it for returning it to you? Hmm?" Troy bit his lip playfully. He took a second to kick a chair over and sit next to Maggie Grunhild, still holding her wallet hostage. She rolled her eyes at his expression and folded one of her legs over the other, revealing her dress had a slit in the front. Tantalizing as ever, she was, and she was taunting him, testing his limits. But not after tonight.

Tonight, she was _his_.

"A simple thank you isn't enough?" she laughed.

"Nope!" he grinned, and he could tell by the resigned look in her eyes that he had her right where he wanted her. She was his, if she wanted her precious little sloth wallet back. And she did. So, she would be.

"Troy, please just give me my wallet back…"

"How about a date, Mags? Just you and me. We could go for a walk or—or a movie. Or both, if you want. Tonight, I don't want to wait any long, I've waited long enough. I should have asked you out a long time ago, Maggie. So, what do you say?" he said, cursing himself for allowing himself to get so flustered, but that's just what she did to him, ever since their drama class and they had been Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. He so very desperately needed to see that side of her again, that passion, and all for him.

Maggie sighed, shutting her book closed, taking a moment to stow it back into her favorite purse, the only one Troy had ever seen her carry. Her pink purse may have been small on the outside, but it was bigger on the inside, just enough to stow her little sloth wallet, a pair of sunglasses, a paperback book and a water bottle and some snacks. Just the essentials, but then Maggie Grunhild was a simple woman, something he admired in her. She could care less for expensive makeup and high heels, preferring to instead shop for discounts or getting her makeup from Walgreens. After a long time of seeming to fight against something and losing, she hesitated, biting her lip as she lifted her chin slightly to meet Troy's gaze. Oh, she knew he had fancied her since high school, and had even followed her here to Camp Black Lake for the summer. She did not know why he was interested in her, when he could any girl he wanted with those looks of his, especially his blond hair. In high school, Troy Wright had all the girls flock to him, but only one he had ever truly seemed to admire and respect. _Her_.

"Why me, Troy?" she asked, quirking her brow his way. "Of all the girls in town you could date, why me? I see the way they look at you, you could have whomever you wanted in a second flat!" Troy startled, not having anticipated the question. She sensed his hesitation and continued. "How do I know you aren't just going to break my heart like you've done to other girls when we were in school? What makes me different, what makes me anymore special than them?"

"Because you're different. You couldn't give a damn what everyone else thinks of you. If someone insults you, you insult him or her right back and then walk away as if nothing happened. If someone picks a fight with you, they go down and they do _not_ get back up. You're independent, you're cool, and you seem like you're a lot of fun to be around. I'd like to date you, Maggie." Maggie supposed she ought to be flattered by all the attention he gave her. Her eyes drifted upwards to her wallet, caught in Troy's tight vice grip. She sighed.

"All right," she agreed, allowing the beginnings of a smile to show on her lips as she brushed a wisp of blonde hair back behind her ears. "A date. But only one! You pick where we go," Grinning infectiously, he held out her wallet. As she took it from him, their fingers briefly touched. The exchange signaled the start of something new, something foreign to both. That was how he asked out his future girlfriend.

* * *

Alice didn't know how this had managed to happen to her. One minute, she had returned back at camp after accompanying Maggie to her haircut, then the next, running for her life from some godforsaken psycho nutjob. Unable to make out details of the man's face, all she knew of her pursuer was that he wore combat trousers and hob-nail boots, topped with a black all-weather jacket and the hood pulled up over his face, and some kind of mask over his face to conceal his features.

These heels were no good to her now. She cursed herself for not wearing better shoes. As she kicked them off her heart beat faster and the adrenaline demands she run, right now, no delay. But unless Alice could get them off, she can't. She wished to God they were sensible but they were three inches high. Then the cold, summer evening near-winter mud kisses her soles and she punched away into the darkness, haring for the yellow light of the street ahead. Her feet slipped, and she almost tumbled over, more time she cannot afford. Then she heard the footsteps, the crunches of the wet leaves after a rain beneath the man's boots. Alice Fredrickson prayed for a dog walker to come by, they often do in the daytime. There was only one pursuer; huge, fast, hyped up, likely on something, given the horrible screaming and yelling he was doing. Before she knew she made a decision to scream, her voice rent the air and the desperation in it scared her. She sounded like someone in a movie, someone with a bit-part who spends more time splattered with fake blood than acting.

Alice kept facing the light, every step closer is vital, then she felt a hand grasp at her dress, and something hard and jagged strike the back of her head. Something sticky and wet formed, and a lump at the base of her skull no doubt began to form as well, and Alice wondered if it was her own head. Her eyesight blurred, tears welling in her vision. Everything became fuzzy, then she saw nothing at all. Her consciousness was floating through an empty space, filled with a thick static. Throughout the inky space, her heartbeats pounded loudly, echoing and almost ringing in her ears, alongside fading whimpering for help.

The feeling in her body drained away until all was black..

* * *

It was a scorching hot summer's evening. Perfect for a night at Bangor's local fairgrounds, except Troy wasn't at the fairgrounds, but rather, on the outskirts of the fairground entrance, waiting for his date, as usual. The sky was dotted with a few candy-floss clouds as the sun set. The entrance could be seen in the distance and the long queues edged forward slowly. Customers were becoming increasingly excited and impatient as they took a few steps forward every so often. Faint music could be heard from beyond the tall gates with the occasional happy scream suddenly piercing the air. Closer to the entrance and the massive structure of the rides could be seen: a roller coaster, a big wheel, a helter skelter. Below, younger children stood watching, eating sweets and snacks. Ice creams wobbled perilously over the cones and dripped down their small fingers as they melted; some munched on brightly colored balls, soft sugar strands that dissolved on the tongue—sweeter than sweet and sticking to their teeth better than glue. A few ate too much and complained to their parents. Troy ignored it. Troy could not bring himself to relax one iota. Tonight, was the night. Troy's hair was a mop of blond strands, framing his eyes which were blue like the water bottle caps in the fridge back at Camp Black Lake, that he in the moment furtively brushed out of his way as he waited for Maggie.

"Look out, Troy!" Next thing he knew, his favorite blue polo was covered in the remnants of an iced Frappuccino and whipped cream.

He hissed a curse and wiped at the spilled drink. As if tonight couldn't get any worse. Now he was sticky, cold, and looked like a complete fucking moron to meet his… girlfriend. He heard it in his voice, a nagging little chime that refused to go away. _There she is! _

The scent of a floral perfume wafted his way as her arm appeared around his shoulder and tugged him flush against her tiny body.

She quickly helped him clean up the spilled drink with her napkins.

"Ugh, did you have to use so much perfume, Maggie?" Troy tried to squirm away, his cheeks flushed and hot, but Maggie's grip was unusually strong despite her tiny size. He had quickly learned that appearances could deceive you when he first met the petite little blonde, and size was no guarantee of power. He didn't hate that perfume as much as he pretended. In fact, he rather liked it on her. A lot.

Maggie had to reach up on her tiptoes to give him a gentle but chaste kiss on the cheek. It was too much, too soon for Troy.

"Okay, okay, let's make some ground rules, yeah? No PDA, not until…things are official," he mumbled, holding up both hands, as if that might keep Maggie Grunhild at bay. At that thought he smirked but held back his retort. "I—I wanted to wait until the right time to…"

Maggie stared; her lips pressed into a tight, frustrated line. Then her blue eyes widened. "Fine. If that's what you want, then we'll keep it simple for now. But you should know, Ben asked me out on a date the other night, and, well…he took it to second base," she said, a tiny smile curving the edges of her lips upwards. Troy thought she was looking stunning in a simple smocked brown floral maxi dress with off-the-shoulder sleeves and the dress featured a rather tantalizing leg slit in the front that went almost all the way up, brown open toed sandals that revealed her love of hot pink toenail polish, the same color was painted on her fingernails. Her blonde pixie, though cut rather brutally short, the shortest he had ever seen on her, even he had to admit if there was anyone that could pull the look off, it was Maggie Grunhild. Troy guessed that at her appointment early today, Emily had gotten a little too scissor happy. She wore a light natural makeup on her face, a little foundation, Bare Minerals powder to set the look in place, brown eye shadow, her full lips covered in a light pink gloss.

He briefly wondered what she would think of him if he were to reach up a finger and trace the outline of her lips, if they were as soft as he imagined them to be. Slung over her left shoulder, Maggie carried her favorite pink rose magenta colored purse, the Riley from Ralphany, so vibrant it was almost a dark purple in color, but she liked how neutral it was, that it went with everything. With all its zippers and pockets, enough room to hold a small iPad, he stifled the beginnings of a smile as Troy knew she had undoubtedly triple checked the contents of her purse before setting out from her cabin back at the camp, making sure she had her favorite wallet with the little sloths on it, their theme park tickets, her cell phone, some Band Aids, probably a Chapstick, the Birthday Cake flavor, her favorite, if he knew her as well as he liked to think that he did, and even her favorite little container of hand sanitizer that she loved so much, the mini Japanese Cherry Blossom the mall in town only sold at Bath and Body Works. She gave Troy's flustered expression a once over and giggled.

"No, you didn't, Maggie," Troy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. If she was trying to make him jealous of Ben, it worked. "Ben doesn't do second base on a first date; we all know that!" he whisper-hissed. "And besides, if he had taken you on a date, he would have said!"

"Shit!" Maggie kicked at a pebble with the tip of her sandal, disappointed. Then, still pouting, she said, "Okay, but look!" She took one of Troy's hands into her own. He couldn't help but notice how well manicured her nails were. As usual, bright hot pink nail polish covered her nails. She kept her nails trimmed short. Their fingers slotted together perfectly, snugly, and Troy sucked in a sharp breath that pained his lungs at the unimaginable warmth. Maggie stepped closer, waiting with bated breath for Troy Wright's decision, if he would let her do this.

But Troy couldn't decide. He couldn't think about anything except how nice it felt to have Maggie hold his hand. He opened his mouth to argue, to say he didn't think this was a good idea, but the words never left his mouth. Maggie took this as a good sign and stepped even closer, closing off the gap between the two of them. "See? A little hand-holding won't do either of us any harm, Troy." Her voice was quiet, kind and shy, her blue eyes twinkling playfully as she shot him a wink. Troy tried to pull his hand back, but her grip was strong.

"But I don't—"

"Aw, come on! Don't do this to me, Troy," she pouted, sticking out her bottom lip just a little and frowning. He could tell she was getting fed up with his bullshit. "I've been looking forward to this date all week. We don't get free nights away from the camp very often, let alone a three-day weekend to do whatever we want, and I've been wanting to go to the fair with you. Just hold my hand a little, you fool, and I won't go through with my plan to kiss you at the top of the Ferris Wheel. I promise, cross my heart and hope to die," she swore teasingly. "Ferris Wheel?" Troy repeated, horror piercing through his stomach.

He barely noticed that Maggie had started to pull him along the sidewalk. The pier was home to a permanent fun fair; bumper cars, the hall of mirrors, the ghost train, a loop-the-loop roller coaster and the big wheel. Waves playfully splashing below, gentle salty breeze, cafe, chips, doughnuts and candy floss. Late summer sun as the sun began to fade, sun speckled sea, gulls swooping for dropped chips. Lines of children snake away from each ride, eager eyes, impatient feet, ready smiles.

A discordant medley of summer sounds, the train track thud-thud of stroller wheels over the wooden planks, the cheery plodding melodies played out of crackly old speakers from each ride, squeals and screams. the repetitive tinny music of arcade games called out from the sheltered array of glowing, flashing machines.

The smell of frying doughnuts permeated the coastal sea air. Troy watched, fascinated, as she dug into her purse and pulled out her favorite little sloth wallet, digging out a few crumpled dollar bills so he could go get them some.

"Get the big ones, not the puny ones. Yeah, the ones with the chocolate chips," she said, noticing where Troy was pointing, looking to her for confirmation as to which ones she wanted him to buy for them.

She turned to Troy, breaking off a warm chunk of the chocolate chip donut with a thick melted chocolate chip in the middle, holding it out for him to take. He shot her a wink and allowed her to feed it to him, the taste of the chocolate lingering on his tongue, sweet and dark, the way he liked it.

He noticed Maggie looking at the Ferris Wheel with a look of longing mixed with slight trepidation in those bewitching blue eyes of hers. They walked for a while, content to take in the sights of the fairgrounds. He won her a little stuffed pink and purple teddy bear from a dart throwing balloon game, much to her pleasant surprise.

She carried it under her arm in one hand, the other clutching a caramel apple, and was still glancing up at the Ferris Wheel, and then back to Troy.

"The line doesn't look too bad. I haven't been up in a long time. Want to go up?" he suggested playfully, unable to hold back his grin, making him feel years younger as he lost himself staring at her smile. Maggie blinked, looking startled. "Up there?" she squeaked, pointing a hand to the Ferris Wheel.

"Is there a problem, Maggie?" he asked, his smile faltering a little as her smile faded slowly.

"I uh..." Her voice trailed off as she glanced down at her boots, the color rapidly draining from her oval face. "I'm afraid of heights, Troy," she confessed, summoning the courage to lift her chin slightly to meet his gaze.

_Oh, God, now what?_ Maggie thought. _He's going to think I'm a coward!_

To her relief, he was smiling. Maggie barely had a chance to react as Troy inched closer towards her, placing his arm around her shoulder and she leaned closer to the dockworker. The softness and gentle touch of his hand against her neck made her back tingle, sending a shiver down her spine. "Just don't look down, Maggie, it's easy," he advised. "And if you fell, I'd catch you. If I missed for any reason, I would sit by your bedside and nurse you back to health. With your instruction, of course," he joked. They fell silent for a second, glancing up at the sky, looking at all the stars and trying to find constellations.

Troy and Maggie didn't speak because in their own way, they were already communicating. A startled shout from a kid broke them out of their moment, as they got in line for the Ferris Wheel, the line slowly inching forwards bit-by-bit. Maggie giggled harder as one of their fellow counselors in line ahead of them said something else that she did not catch due to laughing so hard due to his rant about germs and listeria disease, and Ben was spouting something about the drainage system in Maine, and all the germs, her laugh the sound like a brook flowing merrily through a well-lit wood. Her laugh was a waterfall. Troy began to laugh with her, they were still laughing over his friend's antics with Ben when finally, it was their turn to board the Ferris Wheel. "Oh, God," she groaned.

He smiled, hoping to put her fears at ease. "Just don't look down. Keep your attention focused outward, not down. You'll like the view, Maggie, I swear it. Tell you what. I'll make you a deal to sweeten the odds. If I'm wrong, you don't have to let me take you on a second date, just the two of us. But if you _do_ like it, then I get to take you on a date next Sunday, just the two of us and I pick where we go," he promised. "Just hang on tight and don't look down," he said, stifling a triumphant grin as the nurse nodded and clutched his arm tight in a vice grip. He stared for a moment before bringing his gaze back up to hers to shoot her a bashful smile. "I promise. It's worth it." He fell silent and waited for Maggie's reaction. Troy Wright could see it in Maggie Grunhild's eyes that she hadn't been anticipating he would want to take her on a second date, but he knew as soon as she had been standing outside Mimi's Café that he wanted to.

There was something about Maggie that made him feel so young inside, but not in a childish way. She woke the pure side of him, the best side, all the facets of himself that only required love to be healthy and whole. Should he be lucky to have an eternity with this woman, Troy would sink into serenity, just content to be close to Maggie and keep her at his side, if she would allow it. Their energy together seemed to vibrate in such a unique way, each the perfect complement of the other, or at least that's how it felt to the young dockworker. He had only experienced this once before, with another girl, but that relationship only lasted a few days. Three, to be exact.

Occasionally, he would catch her excited glances out towards the town and the rustic countryside of Maine. He noticed affectionately she was actively avoiding looking down, never once relinquishing her grip on his arm, for which he was secretly glad. "Whoa," she whispered breathlessly when the Ferris Wheel finally reached the top and stopped. "You were right, Troy. It's beautiful up here. You know," she joked, glancing back towards Troy, whose eyes were fixed on a different view. _Her_. "I've lived in Maine my whole life, and I've never ridden this thing once," she teased, sounding ashamed.

Troy smiled, hoping it was a comfort. "Really? Is it your fear of heights?" he asked, his interest piqued. He couldn't remember the last time he'd talked this much, asking her all her favorite things and committing them to memory. What her favorite color was (pink), to her favorite food (Italian), to her favorite animal (sloths).

But Maggie shook her head, suddenly looking wistful. "No, actually I love rides like roller coasters. I—my brother and I go every year to Six Flags and ride all of them, but rides like this, I—I can't," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. "I just..." She bit her lip and looked away for a moment, seeming to need a minute. "Never really...got to come up here with the right person, I guess is all it is."

Troy grinned, pulling her close. "Guess it's a good thing you're dating me then. I love theme parks! Last girl I tried to date and took to a park for a first date didn't and hated it."

"Ouch. That sucks! That was your loss, then. She wasn't me," laughed Maggie, sending a pleasant chill down his spine. Her words touched his heart, and Troy knew in that instant as they looked at each other, their eyes silently communicating without the need for either of them to say a word to each other that he was simply "in love," as those cheesy Hallmark movies around Christmas time like to think happened at first sight.

No, Troy was well and truly smitten with her. Any other could only be a poor reflection, no more substantial than a shadow of the real thing. He felt the blossoming of something warm begin to spread throughout his chest, realizing Maggie was what made his heart strong. Her smile alone was enough to burnish his soul into a beauty it could have never achieved on its own without her. Before he had laid eyes on her, he was one, now he felt like he was a half, or at least he hoped it was heading in that direction. Only time would tell. Yet somehow, so much more than he ever was before without her.

He hoped that, in time, she would feel the same for him, as he seemed to be developing feelings for her. It was odd for him to make a connection this quick; he would be the first to admit it to himself.

No, this was different.

With Maggie though, it was different, and he loved it. "So?" he asked, barely suppressing his grin as he watched her take in the view of the city at night. "What do you think? You like it, don't you?"

"Yes," she agreed, nodding shyly. As she scooted a little closer towards him, his pulse raced. A small lock of hair tumbled in front of her face, resting just in front of her cheek, but with one swift slide of Troy's thumb, it was brushed out of the way. Looking into his eyes, Maggie saw deep pools of blue that displayed his soul, and she took a deep breath, steeling her nerves, but more importantly, she had to do this. Wanted to do it. Her lips touched Troy's cheek. Time halted to a stop. His heart came to a stop and his breath caught in his throat. He reached up his hand and their fingers locked together like puzzle pieces. _A perfect fit_, he thought, amazed at all of it. As the soft skin of her mouth left the side of his face, the exact spot where they had come into contact with his cheek tingled and burned. A hot blazing fire pulsated through his entire body, so much that he didn't seem to notice the warm August evening air. A small grin crept onto his face and his cheeks painted themselves rose red. He pulled away silently, but their eyes locked, having a private conversation of their own as at last the Ferris Wheel returned them to solid ground.

When she kissed his cheek, Troy knew there was more to it, for Maggie to get so intimate, there had to be a pressing reason, especially on a first date.

Then he heard her speak, barely a whisper as she drew back and smiled.

"In your pocket, Troy, you'll need my phone number to call me to take me on that second date next Sunday, won't you? And I'll need to give you my address," she whispered, shooting him a brief wink before reaching up on her tiptoes to give him another peck on the cheek. "It's getting late, you and Ben should head for home. I had a great time with you tonight," she admitted shyly, shifting her purse to her other arm. "Call me tomorrow if you want, we get off early." She turned, before he could think to reply; her dress swishing with her movements as she walked down the side streets, still in a slight daze from the kiss on the cheek she'd given him.

Troy miraculously managed to snap himself out of it. "Next Sunday, eight o' clock!" he called out. "I'll pick you up, if that's okay!" he hollered, suddenly feeling foolish for yelling it halfway down the way. He cringed, hoping he hadn't ruined it. Maggie turned, flashing him that brilliant smile of hers that he so desperately wished he could see more of. "I'm looking forward to it," she grinned, shooting Troy and Ben a shy wave.

Troy fell silent, an odd little smile creeping onto his face as he watched her silhouette disappear slowly down the streets, watching her leave, already looking forward to next Sunday. Maggie seemed to be so proud of her blonde hair, but it wasn't the best thing about her. Short and golden wheat blonde, the color so striking that it was the only thing anyone ever commented on, he could tell by the looks she'd gotten tonight. But Troy barely noticed it. He could drink in her words like a strong wine and enjoy feeling tipsy. He watched Maggie like she held the stars in her hands and soft petals at her feet when she walked, each step deliberate and graceful, just like her.

Troy wanted to wrap her in his arms and never let her go.

* * *

The Black Lake Killer, as he was so adequately named, though he wouldn't have chosen it himself, was watching the little blonde leave the fairground parking lots, making the long trek back to her car. He was watching her from the park's gate entrance. His expression was one of being forced to endure an unpleasant odor. His gaze was unwavering and unabashed. Those gray eyes of his did not travel up to the blonde's face or down to her sandals, but they followed her as if really focusing on something a couple of feet further away. Perhaps his introspective nature led him to be locked in thought as he observed.

But he made no gesture of recognition, no raised hand or stiff nod. He watched as she seemed to sense something was amiss, quickening her pace to the street corner and almost made it to her little Honda Civic, a 2006 model.

He so hated it when they died too soon, but he had to punish them.

They were dirty, their ways were filthy and wanton. If they refused his teaching, he cut them, if they fought back, he sliced deeper. He was firm and fair; they were whiny and without morals. He picked them for their painted lips and short skirts, he felt drawn to their high heels and long legs. They made him think bad thoughts, unclean thoughts. They made him lustful and unchaste. Once he had forced himself upon them in the back of his white van they went to his "church" for the preaching. Naked and bound before the alter he defiled himself with them once more before fetching his Bible and his blade. His father's words echoed in his head. _"The beast and the ten horns you saw will hate the prostitute. They will bring her to ruin and leave her naked; they will eat her flesh and burn her with fire."_

Infused with the zeal of his deepest desires and the reflected power of God he made his move for her. After all his preparations he felt like he'd earned his prize already. _Her_. The other silly little girl had gotten in the way, and when she had refused to tell him where her little friend was, the one he was currently following, the Black Lake Killer had no other choice but to take her head. She hadn't cooperated. He couldn't have any help to make his dungeon prison in the basement or the barn, it had to be secret, windowless, and soundproof. The kidnapping itself was going to be a cinch. He'd been watching this girl for months on end now, he knew her routines, where she went to eat, what she did in her spare time, where she lived. Her family. They wouldn't trouble her any longer.

The kidnapping was over in a second. One minute the girl was fumbling in her purse for her car keys, and then she was gone. No one saw a thing, no one heard her muffled scream, no one was alarmed in any way whatsoever. Her kidnapper knew her quite well by now. He just had to make her see.

That was his plan. To teach her his ways, to make her see the light…

Poor Maggie was thrust above the man's burly shoulder, like she weighed nothing more than a sack of potatoes. She strained against the zip ties, blood running over the translucent plastic, red on white. Her nose filled with the musty scent of the sack that covered her head and in the almost blackness her eyes strained for some sign of what was to come. From the cold metal beneath her body, the shifting motions from right to left and the revving of the engine, she knew she was in transit and had been for some time. Surely someone was looking for her, the police, the FBI...

_Right_? _But what if they aren't?_ Then she was well and truly on her own. "Oh, God." She whispered under her breath, low enough so her abductor couldn't hear her. _Please, God, if you're there…Help me._ But God wasn't. No, she was well and truly on her own now. _God help me. _

He did not answer her.


	10. A Chance Encounter

A/N: Confession Time: This next chapter is mostly an Eve chapter who I've based mostly off Erica Durance's character Lois Lane from _Smallville_, and also a personal close friend of mine who lives in my hometown, since she beta reads my writing, her name is Eve, so I named the character after her. I decided to sort of pay it forward and have her in it, and there's a future love interest coming up for her that I based on one of her favorite actors, Colin O' Donoghue. Also, Ned is back (don't hate me!). I've never been a Ned Nickerson fan (Please don't hate me!) I just don't think he's ever really contributed much to the Nancy Drew stories, and especially in the games, it's my firm believe that he and ND just don't have the chemistry. I'm a Frank/Nancy shipper all the way, so we'll see where this goes. I have no idea, but I'll find out…

* * *

River Heights, Illinois was a Midwestern town marked by boundaries. After weaving through the labyrinth of roads, the paths eventually converged and unveiled the piazza, something of a luxury in the downtown area. Flocks of pigeons had a horrible tendency to gather everywhere, their numbers always delighted people coming in or 'just passing by' from out of town, and either fed them crumbs or took photographs. The visitors' inclination towards the pigeons differed from the locals. To them, the birds were considered nuisances and therefore were treated as such. A sea of people, of all ages and ethnicities, filled the square. Most were tourists from all over, though why they stopped here, Eli didn't know why they did. River Heights was his home and always would be. He let out a sigh and skirted around the pathway of wet leaves, his footsteps silent. He'd gotten a call some teenagers were out at the graveyard again. For some reason, this was their preferred hotspot for pot and booze. Some said there were good cops and bad. But Eli believed that was an oversimplification. They could be honest, courageous, corrupt, devious, malicious, altruistic, cunning or stupid. And that's just his short list. His dad was a cop, and he was all those things. Not all at once of course.

But the right blend of circumstances could bring out any one of those things in him. He was like a chameleon, he blended in with those around him. Grandma always liked to say that he was easily led around as a kid. Eli guessed he still was. Eli stifled a smirk as he spotted the kids, too wasted and huddled over the blue fingered flame of the Sterno burner to notice the handsome cop sneak up behind them.

"Boo," he said flatly, and felt the corners of his mouth twitch as the kids scrambled for cover. "Better run. Go on, get out of here, or I'll find you."

"Damn! It's the cops! Let's get outta here!" One kid shouted. There was the clinking of bottles and the scuffling of sneakers as the kids scrambled to get away. Oh, Eli could have had them at any time, of course, but he chose to let them off this time. Next time though…

"What a mess," grumbled Eli, turning the beam of his flashlight down towards the mess the kids had left behind in their haste to retreat. The haze of blue, cloudy smoke slowly dissipated, and the stupid morons had left behind two perfectly good bottles of Cabernet that he could make use of as soon as he was off duty and went home. He tossed the unopened bottles into the passenger seat of his cruiser and removed his hat, running a hand through his thick tuft of dark hair. It had never been the money. Eli had signed up to protect and serve, maybe he was old fashioned, but he believed in public service. He saw the worst of humanity daily and it tested him. It tested his faith in the goodness of people and his natural optimism. He was there when the fire crews cut lifeless teens from the mangled wrecks of their birthday presents. He was there when a bleeding wife refused to press charges. He was there when the street walkers were released back to same abused and drug-addled lives. But he also witnessed the firefighters rush into burning buildings, he saw the paramedics pulling miracles from thin air, he saw the emergency nurses with their quick hands and the doctors who took charge of situations most would run from. He was proud to be a police officer. He was proud of his unit. The same day he put on his uniform for the first time and accepted his badge was a moment of pride for thirty-nine-year-old Eli Rochester. He was the salt of the earth.

At least, that's what his mother liked to always call him. Frowning, he regarded the two unopened bottles of wine as his mind drifted back to his dream from the other night. It was always the same dream. At least once a week, Eli would dream of standing outside the local café and diner, a quaint little place called Dead Poet's Espresso, and his mind would become so lost in constructing scenarios for the evening ahead, that he would be surprised to see how far he'd come. Already, the café is in sight. There was nothing slick about it in his dreams, no fancy fonts or white etching upon the glass. You could pick up the whole thing and send it back thirty years and it wouldn't look out of place there. There weren't any tables with fancy umbrellas, just the uneven pavement bearing the cracks of age.

Despite the late hour of the night always in his dream, Eli could always hear the music inside, the kind of easy rolling Jazz, 'elevator music' as Eli's dad always used to call it growing up. But he was never here to sit at the bar and chat with Tony, the bartender until the wee hours, Eli was here to see her. She'll already be in there looking like she's been stood up, but still, she would wait. Suddenly, all his preparations flee his mind like scared children, his brain felt full of static like an old television set that's lost the signal. He stopped. Part of him screams to turn around, but he knew his future was in there, waiting for him to say hello. He would go in the diner, his legs feeling like Jell-O every step of the way, and then the mystery woman would appear in the room with the fall leaves skirting around her pants.

Most didn't pay attention to her beauty, but rather her color. The woman was so pale. Even in the dark and dimly lit lighting of the diner, Eli could always see her, like a shining beacon. The white creamy tone of her skin reminded him of whipped milk as moonlight shone through the diner's corner window and onto her. He couldn't help but wonder if he reached out, would he only graze air. As if she were nothing more than a ghost, an angel. Against her pale skin, her hair that cascaded in gentle waves to just past her shoulders cut in graceful layers that framed her thin, oblong face was a deep brown. On any other woman it would be mid-to-fair. Eli knew there was beauty in every color of hair, even the greatly despised "dark chocolate brown." At least, his last wife had hated the color of her hair.

He had always argued with her over it several times before she had cheated on him. But on this woman, it had never looked better. That subdued earthy tone was like a song softly played, bringing the young police officer to recollections of autumn in River Heights. He knew some had hair with brighter tones, inflections of vibrant red or gold streaks that caught the sunlight, and Eli loved those too, but the Earth herself had a beauty that was not to be ignored and to wear the colors of her soils was an honor, not a misfortune. He loved it. With her head held high, the mysterious brunette beauty would always waltz on into the diner with an effortless saunter, always taking the booth back in the corner, near the kitchen. The clicking of her black high heels added rhythm to the soft classical music that played over the diner's speakers without pause. Her dark eyes scanned the room with determination in search of someone, and this next part never changed, as always, when her hazel eyes met his, Eli would smile at her.

So beautiful her smile was, it was like the stars themselves decided to rest behind the soft cushion of her lips. Eli wished his dream woman would tell him her name, but he always woke from it before she could open her mouth to speak. Whoever she was, this brown-haired woman, a reporter by the look of her simple black pants, heather gray collared shirt with ¾ sleeves, and overtop that she wore a black sleeveless dress vest and a lanyard containing her press badge. The little dark blue purse she carried was small, a Rosetti, no doubt from Kohl's or JC Penny, his ex-wife had been a fan of the brand, so that was how he recognized it. He judged from her simple makeup she was low fuss. The woman at the corner booth had a kind of understated beauty, perhaps it was because the reporter was so disarmingly unaware of her prettiness, her natural seductiveness. Her skin was completely flawless. As perfect as could be.

Eli doubted she used face masks or expensive products, that wasn't really her method of doing things. No, this woman was all about simplicity making things easy, helping those around her to relax and be happy with what they have. Perhaps that is why her skin glowed so, it was her inner beauty that lit her eyes and softened her features. When she smiled and laughed you couldn't help but smile along too, even if it was just on the inside. To be in her company was to feel that you too were someone, that you had been warmed in summer rays regardless of the season. At least, that's how she made Eli feel. Eli let out a frustrated sigh, grateful his blue eyes were hidden beneath a pair of black sunglasses to conceal his frustration from the fellow officers as he made his way back towards the police department. The next part of his dream was always his favorite part. The bewitching brunette would get up from her seat at the diner's booth, run towards Eli and envelope him in a tight hug that would always take him by surprise in his dream. In her embrace, he could not explain it, but he felt at home again and all his worries and dreadful thoughts that haunted the cop every waking day of his life as a River Heights police officer were gone the moment she embraced him. Her soft hands playing with the ends of his hair, her head resting against his chest felt so damn good. She would lean in to give him a kiss, and how he longed for it. He lifted her in his arms and twirled her around once with his hands. That was when his dream would end, his eyes would open, and he'd be staring at his bedroom ceiling. He would feel nothing, except depression and melancholy. It's all a dream, but it always feels so _real_. Eli wondered if his dream would ever come true, if he'd meet her. Eli barely had time to react as a blue Honda civic roared past his parked cruiser. He sighed. _Time to get back to work_.

* * *

Eve could hardly believe her turn of good luck. She'd gotten the first exclusive interview, and Lana was going to be so thrilled. They hadn't believed it when they'd found her at first. Lana had thought it was a joke when they'd discovered Todd Baines had any living relatives left. His younger sister, Jessica Baines, was rumored to be dead as well. Thanks to a little sleuthing of her own, Eve had managed to sneak her way into the records of the old police station when they'd traveled up to Maine investigate the latest murder, poor Alice Fredrickson. She'd found the very first transcript of the 911 call of the first murder, way back.

The man who'd found the body had found a half-written, hardly legible note with the name Jessica written on it. Eve had hardly been able to believe it. The killer had left a message for his sister. But it wasn't enough. They needed more concrete evidence, so Lana had insisted Eve take a road trip to Bangor to see what she learn of the Baines family from the locals that lived there. That was where they had learned about Jessica from one of the old diners, an old blind black man who called himself Cliff and reminded Eve a little of Morgan Freeman, with that amazing voice of his. The man was a storyteller in his own right. Eve turned the radio up, tapping her thumbs to the beat. She didn't know the song, some techno trance song by OceanLab, but she liked the group well enough. Helped her to think. The highway yawned wide before her with only a light smattering of traffic. It was eight thirty now, Lana's re-grouping with Megan for Interview Number Two started at nine a.m. Not being on time was going to piss of Lana big time, and without her blessing, she could kiss her ambitions to have her own office goodbye, away from her burlap cubicle forever and kiss it goodbye, and it would start with Jessica. Jessica was going to be her key to a better future, her _dream_.

Her name on the _byline_, and not just as Lana Graham's assistant.

The memory of meeting her in the diner where she worked came back to her in a flash, and Eve was unable to stop herself thinking of it…

* * *

Eve took a moment to dig into her purse for her miniature hairbrush, running it through her dark locks, rummaging in one of the outside pockets for a hair tie to pull half of her flowing hair up into a loose bun.

Flipping the mirror of her compact powder case closed, satisfied her makeup and outfit was in good condition. Out of habit, she checked again. Black pants from Kohl's, black Sketchers sneakers for women with a no-grip slip, not the usual standard of shoe while she was out in the field, but here in Maine, the sneakers couldn't hurt, and they still looked professional enough, a heather gray colored shirt with ¾ sleeves, and her press badge, she was in good condition. Re-adjusting her small golden hoops in her ear, it was going to have to be enough if she was going to greet Jessica Baines. One glance outside from inside the safety of her rental car was more than enough. She looked to the charcoal sky. Then she heard it, like a negative reflection of the town's little church bells pealing in the distant hills, the thunder rolled across the malevolent sky. The untamed power reverberated and echoed across the green landscape of Bangor, Maine. Without waiting for the coming storm to break, she double checked her favorite Rosetti crossbody, a simple little thing, blue in color for just a pop of color in a corporate business casual world that was otherwise full of black, white, and gray, she slammed her car door. The thunder seemed to crack the air, as if the very heavens might split apart. It rolled like the ash of a volcano, becoming a rolling booming rumble. It declared to all the raw power of nature and gave fair warning of the wrath that was to befall the city of Bangor right now.

The pitter patter of the rain as it began to fall created something of a shield around her. Eve loved the rain. She always had, even as a child.

The silver puddle created an obstacle course that only the brave battled. The sky this evening during the dinner hour was gray today.

She sometimes wondered what color things were when it rained. Maybe they weren't. Maybe there was only black and white and different shades of in between. That 'in between' the space of wonder, of mystery, is a place that Eve secretly loved. Lana, on the other hand, despised rain.

But Eve wondered what goes on outside her world of gray on rainy days. She was still pondering this thought as she swung open the doors to the mostly deserted little diner. Glancing around, given that it was six on the dot, the dinner crowd should be packing this joint to the brim, but no.

Only a few stragglers remained, one lone old man in a corner booth sitting in the smoking section, a cigarette clamped between his teeth.

The old man was a shriveled toothless creature, feeble and walked with a cane. He looks as though a puff of wind could blow him down. He had a hand tremor and constant waggling and bobbing of the head. The old man's deep wrinkles seemed to carve a map of his life on his still agile and mobile facial features. His twinkling eyes were framed by thick white eyebrows and on his stubbled chin were white whiskers.

Eve, with a carefully trained eye, quickly looked at the Polaroid snapshot of what Jessica Baines was supposed to look like these days, seeing no sign of her before slipping it discreetly back into her purse.

_She should be here_. Almost as if on cue, one of the waitresses wearily approached her table, a notepad and a pencil in her hand, ready to take her order. The woman was young, with a thick head of light brown hair pulled up into a loose bun, a few tendrils framing her exhausted face.

Dressed in a simple black V-neck t shirt, a pair of black pants and black slip on sneakers with no laces, the waitress shyly poured Eve a cup of coffee and waited for Eve to add a few packets of sweetener into it.

It did not escape Eve's notice the young woman's name tag was missing. Lifting the mug to her lips, she carefully studied her face.

"Did you need a few minutes to look over our menu?" the waitress asked. "Have you eaten before? If you haven't, I'd recommend the short stack with a side of bacon and our sunny side up eggs. It's really good!"

The reporter made a show of pretending to examine the menu, already having decided that she would try the restaurant's special. Pancakes sounded fantastic right now, after an almost thirteen-hour drive with minimal stops. "I'll try that then," she chirped cheerily.

The young waitress nodded, jotting her order down and promising to return with her food. Eve gave a curt nod, signaling to the woman she understood, and rummaged through her purse, pulling out her mini notepad and travel size recorder she used whenever on assignment.

Pressing the **PLAY** button, Eve began to talk into the recorder.

"Interview One with subject Jessica Baines, serial killer Todd Baines' sister. Last known living relative. Location: Pauli's Diner, Bangor, Maine, on the second of September 2019. Interview will commence shortly."

The old man sitting in the booth behind her let out a dark little chuckle, alerting Eve to the fact that the man had been and intended to listen in to her talk with their only lead they'd had on Baines in ages.

Eve furrowed her brow into a frown. "What are _you_ laughing at?" She hated having to bring out the bitchy side of her personality, but in this job, sometimes it called for it. "I don't believe I was talking to you, sir…"

"Cliff," he answered gruffly, and when he shifted his head just so, leaning forward in his seat, his fork still in his hand, a bite of scrambled egg and pancake still pierced to it, Eve Vanderhilt could see he was blind.

"Are you a native to Bangor?" Eve found herself asking. He probably was, giving that heavy accent, the way he dressed, the way he talked.

"Ayuh," he said to her, nodding, and that was all she needed to confirm her suspicions. "Been here my whole life, ever since the fifties."

Eve bit her lip, hesitating, unsure of how much she could divulge about her and Lana's project, but if this was a man who'd lived here his whole life, given this was the area Todd Baines and his family were from, perhaps he would know something about the man that she did not yet.

"Name's Eve. Eve Vanderhilt," she began, instinctively reaching for the press lanyard she wore around her neck, before glancing up and mentally kicking herself, realizing the old geezer was blind and couldn't see. "I'm with River Heights' QTV, I work for Miss Lana Graham, sir."

"Knew you was a reporter," Cliff chuckled. "Could tell by the shoes." As if to prove his point, he tapped his cane on the ground near the tip of her sneakers. When his little laughing fit had subsided, he turned solemn and fixed the young novice reporter with an icy stare she wasn't sure she liked. "You're doin' a piece on the Baines family, ain't you?" he inquired.

Eve nodded, knowing he couldn't see it, but doing it anyway. "Yup."

"What do you want to know?" he asked, surprising her. "I been here my whole damn life and will be here even after I die. Already got the plot of land picked out at the cemetery where they'll bury my old bones."

She sighed, tucking a stray wisp of dark chocolate hair that had come loose from her bun and pulled out her notepad, flipping through pages of her handwritten notes, most of them done in shorthand, and were an outsider to look upon her scribblings and doodling's, they'd be utterly lost. But not Eve. It was exactly as Lana had taught her, minus the drawing. "Todd Baines had a sister. Jessica Baines. She's still alive."

"Ayuh," agreed Cliff, giving a curt little nod of his head, just as her waitress returned with her plate of food, a hot pad underneath her hands carrying to tray to protect her hands from being burnt. "Go on an' ask the lass your questions yourself if you're curious. Jessica, that's her," he said.

Eve glanced upwards towards the waitress, whose face had paled and drained of color. She almost fumbled the tray and quickly set it down. "Is—is there anything else I can get you? Water? Coffee? Tea?"

The reporter shook her head, noticing how pale the girl was getting.

"Why don't you take a seat?" Eve asked, doing her best to keep her tone neutral, though she was quite surprised. The photo she'd been given was dated by a few years, and she would not have recognized her at all.

The waitress, now revealing herself to Eve as simply Jessica Baines, nodded, seeming to lose most of the strength in her legs. Glancing around for the restaurant's manager, Eve didn't see him or her, so they were safe.

And if they should come out and inquire as to why the girl wasn't doing her job, then Eve would just have to buy her dinner. As a matter of fact, that wasn't such a bad idea, since she had a feeling, they'd be here a while. "What can I get you to eat?" she offered kindly, tossing her the menu. "Order anything off the menu you like. I'm paying for it, Miss Baines. My name is Eve Vanderhilt, a reporter for QTV, and we're—"

"I know who you are, Miss Vanderhilt," she croaked hoarsely, toying with a ring she wore on her right finger, a pretty purple moonstone.

Eve breathed a little sigh of relief and decided to work on cutting her pancakes into tiny triangle pieces, spreading butter on them and dousing them in syrup. She was famished, and they could talk while they ate.

"Good," she answered through a mouthful of pancakes. As dingy as this place looked and it could have used a makeover a long time ago, they didn't skimp on their food portions or the quality. This short stack was fantastic. Cooked to golden brown, fluffy, the pancakes were perfection.

_Then I don't have to explain myself_, she thought, watching the girl.

"You think my brother is behind all the murders that have been happening, don't you?" Jessica Baines asked nervously, fidgeting in her seat and averting the reporter's gaze. She flagged down another waitress, ignoring her coworker's confused, quizzical stare, and quickly ordered two waffles with sausage links and scrambled eggs, and a cup of coffee.

"He's the only suspect we have," Eve admitted. "We need answers." Sensing the young waitress's discomfort and unease, she was quick to add, "Miss Baines, your emotional stability during this investigation is my top priority. I promise to you here and now with God as my witness, I will not print or air anything that will cause you humiliation or harm you."

She had fully been anticipating that Jessica Baines would refuse to help, but to her surprise, she gave a weak little nod, saying nothing.

Finally, she spoke. When she found her voice again, it trembled.

"I do not know if my brother is the one behind the attacks, Miss Vanderhilt. He is…_was_—a troubled man, he's dead now, and has been dead now for several years. You can't come back from the dead, Miss Vanderhilt. I wish it were possible, but no." She glanced toward Cliff.

Cliff couldn't resist adding in a quip of his own. "Sometimes…dead is better," he mumbled, his cigarette still clamped between his teeth.

Eve shot him a dark look, reaching for her favorite black ballpoint pen, the only one she ever used while note taking for a story. "All right, Jud Crandall. Next I suppose you're going to tell me not to bury my cat?"

The old man couldn't help smiling at her retort. "Somethin' like that."

Jessica, for her credit, ignored the exchange. "I do not believe he has it within him to be a murderer, and I am having trouble believing he is the one responsible. May I read what you have so far, please? It will help me to understand if I need to—to tell it front to back, or back to front, or start in the middle and work my way from there," she confessed, sounding ashamed as she tucked back a lock of brown hair behind her ear.

Eve nodded, rummaging in her second bag she'd brought in addition to her Rosetti purse, a simple black tote that she used to carry out her laptop as well as proof copies of the magazines they printed their articles in. She wordlessly slid a copy of her type article, due to be submitted for printing in a week, assuming the draft got Lana's seal of approval, that is.

She fell silent as Todd Baines' sister read the first installment…

_Crime Today Magazine_ is proud to present the first of a nine-part chronological installment detailing the life of Todd Baines, otherwise known to the rest of the world and most of Maine as the Black Lake Killer.

Titled _Man of Sorrow_, award winning reporters Lana Graham and Eve Vanderhilt delve into the dichotomies of good and evil in our society.

All interviews conducted were with the subjects' express permission.

*No quote is printed without prior approval.

Eve fell silent and continued devouring her plate of pancakes as Jessica Banes paused, beginning to read the first installment of the piece aloud. She noticed with no small amount of trepidation the silence.

Almost everyone in the diner was listening, even the manager…

"It is no accident that it is the reptile, the snake, that symbolizes evil in our myths. For these creatures do not require love to raise their young like mammals do. As such, they do not evolve an ability to feel love, only to survive. Likewise, the psychopath does not feel love, they are an evolutionary throw-back to our reptilian brains, an accident of genetics. But if we do not take the threat of them seriously, they will continue to dominate our world, driving us into hell. Much like the notorious serial killer, Todd Baines did to Bangor, Maine throughout the years of 2007 to present. No one could have guessed that the charming little boy, born to parents Jim and Rachel Baines, would have grown up to terrorize the city of Bangor and would one day stalk innocent people like a wolf stalking a wounded lamb and kill several dozens of innocent young men and women at Black Lake. Certainly not his parents, Jim and Rachel Baines.

The moment little Todd was born, Jim wanted to drink this moment in, this moment with his little son in his hands. His eyes were more brilliant than he could have ever dreamed they would be, his hands more delicate. He felt so light, looked so perfect, and smelled so divine. Jim knew as long as he lived that he would be Todd's protector, and the protector to any children that followed their son, for as long as he lived, and the love he possessed for his children would last an entire eternity.

If only they had known that one day, Todd would grow up and stalk innocent victims like a wolf stalked a wounded sheep, hungry for blood.

By the time that Todd was three, his hair was strands of a newborn day, of the sunlight that called for the Baines' neighbors to open their eyes and greet the dawn. It was as if he was born to ride ocean waves, that golden child, that strong-hearted blond boy that loved tractors.

Shortly after Todd's fourth birthday, Rachel announced she was pregnant with their second child. Jim had made sure Todd was even present in the hospital delivery room, to help bring his new little sister into the world. When the labor began, the pain was more intense than anything Rachel Baines could have ever imagined. Nothing could be more brutal, not whips or chains. The room was only the bed and four walls, her helpers, husband, and little boy, melting into the background as if they weren't even there. Is there anything more isolating than intense pain? Doesn't pain lock us in effectively as any prison?

After, when their daughter was born, it was if only sunshine existed in the world, as if all the earth was ushered into harmony. Rachel Baines looked into those new eyes of their daughter, Jessica Elizabeth Baines, a new consciousness, perfect and reaching out for her mother's love.

In that instant, Rachel knew she would do anything to protect her children, both of them, and that her love was as vast as the universe, yet solid as rock. She was a mother and she would always be. Always.

Things were perfect, at least for the next five years. The problems in the household arose when Jim Baines lost his job at the docks in town.

When he was discharged from his job with PTSD, thanks to a few years in the Army, he refused therapy. Jim didn't see what good it would do, later recalled Rachel, now re-married and living in Portland in a simple two-story house, seemingly living a fulfilling life and moved on.

Rachel recalled Jim's temper and drinking habits over a slice of chocolate cake and a cup of coffee in Café Mnemonic, a popular spot, as she sat with Lana Graham to divulge the details of her marriage to Baines.

"Being around him was like waiting for a bomb to go off and after a time, the rest of his family left him. Nobody called him anymore. Not his grandma, not his brother over in Orono, James "Jim" Baines was alone. That's when he turned to the drink more heavily than he had before, now there was no-one to tell him to lay off, to say he'd had enough. Now the bottle was his only friend and it didn't improve his temper one iota. He never had a sober day if he could help it. He did everything drunk. He drove, shopped and went to work drunk. He never had less than four full bottles of Gin and a case of beer in the house. That was his emergency rations and he immediately went shopping if he reached that level. Yet he would never describe himself as an alcoholic. He figured he could quit anytime he wanted to. But he never did," Rachel recounted rather sadly.

It was on the night of August 31st that their lives changed drastically.

Child kidnapping during the 90s was unfortunately a hobby in these parts. Gangs with nothing better to do snatched children to 'play' with.

After a few days, they would park what was left in a shallow grave or fed them to wild boars in the woods. Parents who turned to the law soon found that they were in control of the gangs—take on a gang and it's your kid next, maybe your wife, and no, you won't ever know how they died.

The gangs sometimes walked right into a home to take one. "Pay your tax," they would say, recollected the Baines' neighbor, Betty Price, "and they would pick one and take the kid, never to be seen again, or the kid."

Jim would later recount to the police after the incident while trying to calm a frantic Rachel, who had been forced to go under heavy sedation.

"The kidnappers looked like middle-aged men," he told the cops. "They were round about their middles with thinning hair, flecked with gray. Dark eyes, the lot of them. They took Jessica and Todd! Our _kids_!"

There was no sign of forced entry and no trace of who did it. Clearly, the kidnappers had thought of themselves as something of an artist. The method they had used took time, but the reward was high. The children.

It would later come to pass that the kidnappers had cased the house carefully for a week or two in various brilliant disguises. They had learned the routines of the occupants. Once the men had calculated the best point of entry and the best time it was, on to the second phase.

If they were unfamiliar with the security system, of which there was none considering the Baines' lived out in country and hadn't considered the possibility that they would ever need such devices as alarm systems.

When he was almost ready, one of them would pose as an appliance repairman while the other scoped out the basement and the surrounding property, accessing all the vantage points, examining every angle over.

By the time they left, they knew where every valuable in the house worth taking was, and they had their eyes on the children from the start.

The final stage was not actually that exciting, the men just strolled in and took what they wanted. In this case, Todd and Jessica Baines.

Afterwards, they would relocate. Another city, another country.

For Jim and Rachel Baines, neither of them had experienced grief this bad before. It started when their children were taken, and then the fighting that inevitably led to Jim's drinking problem and their divorce.

The grief snuck up on the grieving couple quietly and took them under its arms in an instant. Every memory played like a song in their heads, repeating itself for what seemed like forever. They were lost mostly because they had lost an integral, big part of themselves.

Rachel and Jim Baines could not get that part back, and the two wanted it so bad as their lives depended on it, but their children were gone, vanished into thin air. Rachel would later tell Lana during a second interview that while it did not get better, it did get easier over time. It did.

At first, Rachel Baines during her divorce had thought grief was something bad that took you ten feet under, but soon, Rachel learned it was just the price she had to pay for something loving. Her children, Todd and Jessica Baines, had been stolen from her and her husband, and they would not re-emerge from the world. Not for another several years."

Jessica fell silent, her hand going limp as she gingerly set the article back onto the table and slid it across to Eve. When she lifted her chin slightly to meet Eve's gaze, silent tears were glistening in her eyes.

"How can I help?" she whispered, a note of hope in her voice.

* * *

Eve was jolted out of the memory as one of her favorite songs came on the radio, bringing her back to the present. Soon, she was on track, passing, under-taking, weaving, punching the gas pedal. From behind, there was a sudden blare from a siren and a police cruiser appeared in her rearview mirror, the red and blue lights flashing brilliantly in the gathering gloom of summer evening that was coming to an end. "No, no, come on! This is _so_ not fair! Shit," she muttered darkly under her breath, glowering. No time to call Lana to tell her that she was going to be late, either, or then she'd _really_ be in for a world of hurt. Eve craned her neck, pulling over to the side. The shoulder would have to suffice, coming to a stop and waited for the damn officer to get out and make his approach, flashlight in hand. How fast had she been going anyway? Eighty? Ninety? _Shit. Damn it._ She did _not_ need this right now. "Fuck, I so do not need this today. It's not fair!" The minutes dragged on slowly, and her heart rate was faster than it had ever been. Then the officer stepped out of his cruiser and rested his notepad on the trunk of her blue car, his expression clearly annoyed behind a pair of thick, aviator frames. He tapped his knuckles on her window. Eve visibly cringed and rolled her window down, decided to take off her sunglasses. "Morning officer," she mumbled, hating how feeble and meek she sounded. "I—I promise, I'm not drunk, I just…I'm really excited and I'm late for a meeting and I need to—"

But the cop wasn't hearing any of it, not in the mood for her excuses. "I'm going to need you to step out of the car, ma'am. Walk down the straight yellow line of the road for me. Do it. Right now."

Eve huffed a sigh of frustration and tossed her dark hair over her shoulders and did so, not wanting to anger the cop any further. "See?" she called out irritably. "Not drunk! I told you. Now can I go?" she begged.

"So, you're just a terrible sober driver, is that it?" The cop retorted, lifting his sunglasses and perching them on top of his head. Eve was momentarily taken aback by his blue eyes. He had tousled dark brown hair, which was thick and lustrous. His eyes were a mesmerizing deep ocean blue, flecks of silvery light performed ballets throughout. His face was strong and defined, his features molded from granite. He had dark eyebrows, which sloped downwards in a serious expression. His usually playful smile had drawn into a hard line across his face. His perfect lips ripe for the kissing. His strong hands, slightly rough from working, held out his hand as he waited for Eve to hand him her license.

She couldn't help but blush and hated that she couldn't hide her embarrassment. "Ha-ha, very funny. You're such a comedian. Don't quit your day job. I wouldn't count on the clubs selling out of tickets to see your show, Funny Guy. Can I stop walking now?"

The cop didn't look up from his citation pad, seemingly unfazed by her taunts. "You can stop walking when I tell you to stop walking," he mumbled. "I didn't tell you to stop!" he snapped.

Eve bit her lip, wondering if there was another way to get out of getting a ticket. Though she made plenty of money working for Lana, she couldn't really afford a $150 ticket. "Okay, okay, b—but if I was drunk…could I do _this_?" she challenged, thinking fast. Eve had always been fidgety, especially growing up, never still for her math classes or choir practice. Chairs were her nemesis, which was a pity considering chairs and pencils were the bane of her existence as a reporter's assistant. She had to move, she needed to move. She launched into a little dance, and the cop rolled his blue eyes and scoffed.

"Okay, stop, stop, stop this! Please stop! I believe you. You're not drunk. But I'm still going to have to give you a ticket," he said, his dark brows furrowing into a slight frown.

"What?" moaned Eve. "Ugh, _why_?" Today was _not_ shaping up to her day.

"It's a funny thing about break lights, ma'am. You _have_ to have them. No exceptions."

Eve smacked her hand to her forehead and dragged her palm down her face in exasperation. "Oh, I knew it. Those have been out for like a year! I'm so _stupid_." She met the cop's piercing glacier cold stare and flashed what she hoped was a charming white smile. "Please, please, I _promise_ I will get them fixed, this week, I swear it. Can't I get let off with a warning? I'm going to be late!" she asked, clicking her tongue flirtatiously against her cheek and biting her lip.

He fell silent, seeming to regard the young reporter for a moment, and his blue eyes widened as his gaze drifted upwards to meet hers as she stepped into the light from one of the streetlights above, as though clearly seeing her for the first time since stepping out of the car. The cop was looking stunned.

"License and registration, ma'am. _Now_, don't make me ask a second time," he snapped, his hand outstretched as he waited for her to dig into her trusted blue Rosetti crossbody currently slung over her right shoulder, swaying as she continued her walking, her purse that she affectionately called the Tardis, thanks to it being a beautiful blue color and being bigger on the inside. She grumbled inaudibly under her breath and handed over the required documentation to the cop, who scanned them leisurely. "Oh, look at that, you live over on Woodbury Drive. We're neighbors, Miss Vanderhilt," he added, glancing down at her license so he could learn her name. "I live just over that way, three houses down from you, I think." He jerked his thumb over towards the other side of the highway back towards the residential neighborhood. The cop glanced over at her and frowned slightly, deep in thought. Eve's face fell as he ripped off the ticket slip, an odd expression in his eyes. "You know what," he growled darkly, glancing down at the citation slip in his hand and back up to Eve.

She drew in a sharp breath that pained her lungs and waited.

_Is this really happening? _

The cop continued, ripping it up and crumpling it in his hands. "Let's just forget about this one this time, but on two conditions," he added sternly, fixing the young reporter with a hard stare.

"Yes, anything," swore Eve immediately, making the sign of the Hail Mary as she got back into her car while the cop lingered at her window. "Whatever you say, officer."

"Get your taillights fixed. Before you kill someone, and…" he jotted down something on a slip of notebook paper, folded it up and handed it to her through the open window, "meet me for a coffee later tonight? I get off at six, will that be too late for you, Miss Vanderhilt? Meet me at seven. Will Gloria's work for you?"

Eve felt her face drain of color. "Uh, y—yeah, that would be great, Officer…? I—I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Name's Eli. Eli Rochester, ma'am," he said politely, tipping his head in acknowledgement. He chuckled a little at her nonplussed expression. "Something tells me stopping you is lending you to having a bad day, but if you meet me for that drink later, you can talk to a cop about it and I can arrest someone if you want. We're just like priests, except we can tell everybody about it, afterwards. I won't though," he added, seeing her horrified expression. "Whatever you tell me on our coffee date later is strictly between you and me."

Eve Vanderhilt was rendered speechless. Officer Eli Rochester had the kind of face that stopped women in their tracks. She guessed he must get used to that, the sudden pause in a person's natural expression when they looked his way, followed by overcompensating with a nonchalant gaze and a weak smile. Of course, the blush that accompanied it was a give-away. She could tell just by one look that it didn't help that the cop was so modest with it. It made the girls fall for him even more. But she had a strange feeling about this one. Despite all the opportunity that probably came his way, he was a one-woman man who prized a genuine conversation above lipstick and high heels and a seductive partner. Probably. Maybe. Oh, he was handsome all right, but she thought he had a beautiful soul. He did just rip up her ticket after all.

"I look forward to it," she grinned, dipping into her purse to return the gesture, jotting down her phone number on a slip of paper, reaching out the window, having to crane up slightly to slip it into his uniform's shirt's front pocket, and gave it a little pat before jerking her hand away.

"Oh. I almost forgot. Here," he said suddenly, handing out her license and registration. She hesitated for a moment, before reaching out. As she took them from him, their fingers briefly touched. Officer Eli Rochester gave her a little wave and a flirtatious smirk as he departed. Eve couldn't seem to find her voice. She felt her cheeks flush hot, and her stomach was heavy. Her heart pounded in her chest, threatening to break out. The reporter was surprised he couldn't hear it. His blue eyes never left hers as he walked backwards towards his car, giving her one last wave before getting in his cruiser and speeding down the highway. Some stupid love song was playing on her radio now. How many songs had she heard that said, "He takes my breath away?" Suddenly, that line seemed to make a lot of sense. Eve wasn't aware of it, but the whole commute from the moment she got stopped by the handsome cop all the way to the office at QTV, she couldn't stop grinning a brilliant smile. She had her first date tonight in a long time.

With Eli Rochester of the River Heights Police Department.

* * *

The day had ebbed by slower than old treacle. Eli had sat in his cruiser in the police department's parking lot for a solid five minutes, hardly able to believe it. His usual slouch had been replaced by a stiff mannequin pose. Reporter Eve Vanderhilt would be at the café at five on the dot. She had just texted him to confirm the place. Eve. The girl from his dreams. With the beautiful brown hair and eyes, just like his dream. She was _real_. She existed. He imagined touching her thick, luscious wavy brown hair as he kissed her, told her a funny joke and bought her whiskey and coke. He could already hear the chatter of the other patrons and taste the salt & vinegar crisps. He had been awful at work; the boss had had to tell him everything three times and he had gotten half his usual volume done. At home, he'd slumped into a chair with the Internet, it had been seven before he checked the time again. He hadn't showered yet, planned what to wear or which route to take that would get him there faster. Eli hopped in the shower, pulling on a pair of jeans and a black sweater. He hoped tonight would go well. He needed to impress her. It was her. The one, the _girl_. The girl from the diner in the corner booth.

Eli loved seeing her smile, especially towards the end when he'd decided to rip up her ticket. Once he'd gotten a good look at her, the moment she'd stepped into the light, all thoughts of ticketing the woman fled, as he realized it was the woman from his dreams, right down to her outfit. He loved seeing her smile. _I want it to be directed towards me. For me. Because of me. I want to bring you joy; I watch you bring so much happiness to those around you. Feel the warmth you've given me. _

Eli believed that everybody deserved a chance at love. And he knew it sounded dumb, hence why he'd never admit this out loud, but he believed in love, despite his marriage ending horribly seven years ago.

He knew there were those out there that said there was no such thing as true love, that it all ended in heartbreak and pain, and he ought to be a walking example of it, but he thought that was the beauty of it all, really.

To have something so perfect for such a short while, and then for it to disappear into nothing. It was like an endless loop, never ending. Always on the move. You could never guess where the feeling would take you.

That was the thing about love and attraction. It was beautiful, dangerous, and magical. Eli believed everyone deserved a chance at love, because they all deserved something magical in their lives.

And for him, his magic would start at a simple coffee shop down the road…


	11. Fallout

A/N: I swear, I'm really not* trying to make Ned such a huge jerk, but I really think his character stems from the fact that I've never liked him. I have a really hard time making him likable, since I'm a Frank/Nancy shipper, but it's something I'm working on, trying to make all the beloved characters not so one-sided and more complex.

* * *

Upon waking up, Nancy burrowed herself into the warmth of her soft sheets of her bed in the cabin that she and Bess and George shared.

The boys had their own separate cabin next door they split with Greg.

She rubbed the remainders of sleep from her eyes and peeked out the window; its vivid light extended across a rosy sky. She supposed this was something the majority would consider beautiful, but Nancy found it strange, hard even, to find something so meaningful in something so…

_Every day_, her brain finished that thought for her. A cynical thought.

It wasn't like the sun wouldn't rise. It had, after all, been reliably happening since the beginning of time. So, what was so special about it?

She could never feel the joy from it the others did, the magic that drew so many artists and photographers in, as if they had a lens or filter, she'd missed out on. _Again, with the bad thoughts!_ Her mind scolded her.

It was that day of drowning, here again, the cold wash that only Nancy could feel ever since Ned broke up with her, and they were in over their heads dealing with a potential serial killer, and for the first time in her life, she wasn't sure if she would be able to solve this one. And that sucked.

She didn't want to get up, and in her mind, she was running through the list of tasks she had to get done today. First things first, they'd all agreed to meet at that diner close by to talk to Cliff, to pick his brain to see what else they could tell them about Todd, and then following that, Nancy wanted to visit the coroner's office to talk to the coroner who'd deal with Baines' body, and then following that, Frank had invited Nancy on a walk, just the two of them, so she felt obligated to humor Frank Hardy and follow him wherever. Nancy didn't want to move at all, so she did the only thing she could. She buried herself in the comforter, enveloping herself. Nancy was standing on the brink of something she couldn't quite describe to herself. The weight of everything seemed to press down on her shoulders, and she struggled to even take a single step forward. It hurt even just to move as she lay curled up in a fetal position under the safety of the comforter.

It was too much. All of it. And somehow, Nancy had, with the demanding of her friends and her father, had continued to keep on going.

But every step cost her. The darkness grew darker; the pain sharper; all of it seemed to only grow in strength and she began to wonder if things could ever get better. But Nancy never said a word, never complained. Sometimes she wondered if that smile—her horribly fake smile—was ever seen through. If someone ever noticed that sad, broken look in her eyes that she saw whenever she looked in a mirror these days lately. If they saw beauty where all she saw was ugliness. And then she let out a little laugh, a bitter, sarcastic laugh at herself. Nobody cared. No one noticed. _They never seem to, do they? The_ voice in her head taunted.

Nancy thought if there was one thing she could agree with the old man from the other night when he'd told them all the stories of Baines' death, was that society was one of the worst things about humanity. Nancy thought it was funny that society touted on about acceptance, and about possessions not meaning anything, say that it doesn't count towards being happy. It ridicules people who are different, people who say they don't need money to be happy, tells them they don't need stuff like that to live. Then they turn around and have a go at people like Todd and Nancy, people who had everything but weren't happy, and they ridiculed people like them because of it. They never realized the truth of what they said before. Being accepted because you were popular, or for your possessions would never make people happy. People made people happy, family, friends, and…partners. At the thought of spouses, boyfriends, girlfriends, Nancy let out another bitter laugh and didn't bother to stop her tears. When the tears weren't even halfway done, Nancy was empty. She couldn't have cried even if she wanted to. She hadn't experienced this feeling before. The sadness was still there, but not raw anymore—now it was a strange empty void—the kind she didn't think would easily lift.

Nancy felt like Frank could surprise her with the cutest puppy on earth and she wouldn't feel a thing. She peeked over the covers, just for a second. She stared around her as if she were in a pit at the bottom of a volcano. Her surroundings were exactly the same, but they gave her no emotion. How could that be? She needed emotion to feel alive, to love…

Almost as if on cue, Bess barged through her door, a bundle of clothes in her hand and Nancy jerked the cover back up over her head, not in the mood. "There you are!" Bess exclaimed. "What are you still doing up?"

Nancy did not respond, which annoyed Bess Marvin greatly.

She would not be joining them at the diner today. What was the point? She couldn't solve this one, they were all out of their leagues with this case.

"We're all going to die," moaned Nancy helplessly. "I won't find Todd or whoever is doing this, and he's going to kill us all, pick us off one by one, just like in the damn movies," Nancy wailed, unable to believe it.

Nancy saw with some disdain she had gathered one of Nancy's favorite summer outfits, though it was with no amount of disgust that she looked at the simple attire gathered in her arms, waiting for Nancy to change. Bess had dug through Nancy's suitcase sometime this morning, pulling out her favorite white and red baseball t-shirt, a pair of denim shorts, and red sneakers. Well, _one_ red sneaker. Her other foot was still in the boot.

"Honey, please. You gotta get dressed for us. Now _please_," Bess begged.

"No, Bess," Nancy moaned. "Nancy Drew will not solve this case tonight, or any other night. I—I can't do this! I'm not cut out for it!"

"Okay, but how about just your socks?" she pressed on, ignoring her.

"Nancy Drew is _dead_!" Nancy continued. "Do you know how she died?"

"How?" Bess sighed, biting her lip hard enough to bleed, fighting with the sheets as she struggled to pull her friend out of bed and out of this funk.

"Alone," she groaned, clutching the comforter in a tight vice grip.

"Oh, no," Bess cried, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "Honey, please, you gotta help me a little, I can't do this on my own!" she snapped.

Hearing the desperation in her best friend's tone, she whipped the comforter down and allowed her head to poke out from the top of the bed.

"Darling, have you eaten? You look haggard!" Nancy squealed. Apparently, that was enough to wrench her out of bed, and rummage through her purse for a bottle of what looked to Bess to be vitamins.

"What is this?" Bess grumbled, swiping the bottle out of her hand.

"They're—they're supplements," Nancy breathed. "I bought them for Ned because he wasn't getting enough vitamins in his diet, but…that's all over now," she wailed, throwing herself back down on the bed once she was reluctantly dressed, not bothering to protest as Bess grabbed a brush through Nancy's auburn locks, commenting on how it seemed to be turning more a gentle brown color the more she aged and spent time out in the sun.

"Okay…." Bess sighed, folding her arms across her chest wearily. The blonde girl opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the arrival of Frank Hardy, who'd burst open the door so hard it shook on its hinges.

He was looking uncharacteristically cross and fed up, not like him.

"Nance, we can help you," Frank said, reaching out a hand towards the broken teen. "Let us help you, let me help you, Nan. I want to do this."

"Shut up!" Nancy cried, swatting his outstretched limb away as though his gentle touch burned. She could feel the onset of tears brimming in the corners of her eyes again, and she hated herself for it. "No one helps. They only make it worse. Depression isn't something you can put a Band Aid over and say it'll be okay. Because, news flash! It won't!" she shouted.

Nancy leapt up from her bed and started to pace back and forth in the middle of the cabin floor. "Depression drags you into this pit and never lets you go. No matter how hard or how long someone's rope is they throw to get you out, something always cuts the cord, so you plummet back down to the ground. You get hurt with each attempt to get out, more and more dirt covering you as you try! Why can't you see that!" She stopped pacing and shockingly, there wasn't a slope in the floor she had been stomping over. "There is no band aid large enough or absorbent enough to cover it." Her voice took on a gentler tone. "And I just want to let it all go... I don't want to be stuck in that pit anymore, I want to be in the field of flowers right outside the hole... I want to be free." She fell to her knees, a few tears falling from her hazel eyes. "I want to be happy but can't find it. It's like I'm playing hide and seek with someone all the way across the world and winning will let me be free. It'll never happen..."

"I want to help," Frank said again, just as confident as before.

"Were you not listening to me? Help doesn't wor—" Nancy was silenced by the larger man pulling her into a hug, the embrace gentle but firm.

"I want to help you, Nan, and I'll climb down into that pit myself to get you out if I have to. I want to see you smile again and won't take no as answer, Nancy Drew. Now, either I sleep on that second bed to make sure everything is okay, sorry, Bess," he added to their friend as an afterthought, who was trying her hardest not to smile. She'd shoved her knuckles into her mouth to keep from laughing. "Or you can grab your purse and join us all for breakfast at the diner to go talk to old man Cliff."

Nancy was stunned. No one was ever this forceful about the topic. Whenever she said no, they just brushed it to the side. Frank continued.

"You're too important to lose. No one should leave you alone again."

"Mind reader," Nancy grumbled as he laughed, slinging his arm over her shoulder, waiting for her to grab her purse and join them outside. "Here."

He reached down into her suitcase and tossed her a hair tie and her Cardinals ballcap. "It's supposed to be hot today. You might need it."

Nancy smiled, unable to stop the smile from coming. "Thanks, Frank."

As Frank guided her down the path towards their rental car, with Bess and George trailing close behind, the weight lifted from Nancy's shoulders as if an overly large child had just gotten off after a satisfying piggyback ride. She walked a little taller. Her stride was lighter, more carefree now.

Nancy noticed how the white light of the morning streamed down onto the earth, and a girlish grin spread onto her cheeks as she burst into the waiting summer morning like a blackbird's melody, ready to start over.

Somehow, she always had the idea when around Frank, that everything was going to be okay. And she knew as she looked at him, it was.

* * *

A vast blanket of white hung heavy over the hills. It suffocated every building and every tree at their base, swallowing every distant object and vanishing around every corner. It crept round St. John's church, its silent footsteps tiptoeing around each gravestone in the churchyard, passing by Jane Thomson, Rupert Nicholson and many others, before finally coming to rest at the foot of a freshly covered grave. Scott stood in the still silence of the churchyard, his only comfort being that of the cold white blanket that hugged his shoulders and grabbed at his trouser legs. The thunder rolled overhead like the fury of the gods. It tumbled toward them through the darkened clouds, spreading out into the night, hailing the promise of rain to the land below. Ned Nickerson did not know why he had chosen to come here, he'd merely been following a tip, and from Eve Vanderhilt, of all people. Why he listened to her, he didn't know. Nor did he care, really, if he was being honest with himself.

Ned sighed. At his side sat a forgotten coffee mug, still half full, long since devoid of warmth. The morning itself was as old as the coffee at his corner table. He tapped its murky surface to break the thickening skin and watched the new gap grow, feigning interest in it. The frigid brown drink dripped from Ned Nickerson's finger, the ripples spreading toward the rim in even larger circles. He knew he was spoiled, so used to the finest coffee beans, thanks to his parents, always freshly brewed and served with creamer, and half-and-half.

He still craved a subtle undertone of hazelnut and his cup to be a festive color for the fall holidays, Halloween colors maybe, since October was fast approaching in a few days, served piping hot, fresh. Instead, it was this muck, this crap—depression served without a smile. It suited this place though; it matched the beige walls and was as welcoming as the unguarded, slightly flickering strip lights and the worn hardwood floor of the old diner. The only thing alive in this joint was the ticking clock hanging just above the door to the kitchens in back. Ned thought the rest of them died some time ago. Almost as if on cue, the only waitress working in the diner seemed to sense his desire for something hot.

A cute little blonde woman, maybe a few years older than Nancy, her hair pulled back into a loose bun, a few tendrils hanging down to frame her oval face. Taller than Nancy, though, around 6'1 if Ned had to hazard a guess. Though in his mind, while he thought this girl was cute, Nancy was cuter. The blonde waitress was dressed in a pair of black pants, a pair of black Sketchers no-slip grip shoes, the Marsing style for women, Ned recognized the pair given than Nancy owned a pair similar to the ones she wore on her feet currently, a black long sleeved, close fitting Henley shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and, whether on purpose or not, a yellow, chewed pencil behind her ear. The girl offered a shy smile Ned's way, her pad and pencil at the ready. "What can I get for you, honey? Do you need a few minutes to look over our menu or are you ready to go on and order?" The waitress, whose name tag read Sharon, was a quiet one.

"Waffles. With a side of bacon." Before he could stop himself, he added. "But don't tell my girlfriend," and then mentally kicked himself. _You moron! YOU'RE the one that broke up with her! Idiot!_ _What the hell are you thinking, following her like some stalker to Maine? After the way you treated her, she probably never wants to see you again, Nickerson! Why the hell did you listen to Eve?_ _You shouldn't have followed her here!_

The girl, whose nametag read Sharon, smiled wryly, jotting down his order with her pencil. "Whatever you say, sir. Oh, and if you want some more coffee, just shout," she instructed, ripping off the slip of paper to take the order to the kitchens. Sharon Jones let out a tired sigh as she sauntered over to the counter, where another lone man sat at the counter, his own mug of coffee clutched in his hands. Ned fell silent and listened. There wasn't much else to do. He and the younger man and an old fellow sitting alone in a corner booth were the only patrons in the diner, given the early hour of the morning, it had to be at least six o' clock.

He was honestly surprised the place wasn't more packed, but then again, maybe it was the fog. It swooped in and skirted around the buildings and the trees, like a giant eraser moving indiscriminately to eradicate what was once there into something that's not. Ned knew that the building too was swallowed, erased, eradicated by this enveloping whiteness. It hurt his eyes; it was so white. Staring at it made him feel like he was staring at himself staring at nothing. His mind fought hard to drum up a thousand different description to plaster across it. But there was nothing that could truly describe nothing. Each thought he had seemed loud and exposed, just like every movement the fog made as it lazily enveloped the town and its building in its cold embrace. Maybe the fog was somehow in him, just as he was in it.

"Six weeks of nonstop rain? It's almost Halloween in a few more weeks, Joe," Sharon grumbled, glancing out the diner's window. "The children are gonna get all wet when they go trick-or-treating!"

Ned froze, his knuckles white as he gripped the handle of his mug.

_Joe?_ He wondered. _As in…Joe Hardy? No way! That's just not possible, unless…they came with her here_, he thought, dismayed. _Would make sense._

Joe Hardy, forever the flirt and ladies' man, let out a little chuckle. Sharon turned back towards the kitchen to shout something at the cook. "How's that order coming on Table 6?" she called out irately.

Joe gave a nervous little laugh and attempted to make small talk with the cute waitress. "Yeah, my little cousins are going out with their costumes and plastic masks back home in River Heights. Good thing we didn't have to paint their faces, it'd be running all over."

Sharon nodded as she bent down behind the waitress station to check for spare menus and napkins. "Yeah, that was a good choice."

The waitress came back up with a rag and cleaner and began to wipe down the counter. Joe took a sip of coffee from his mug.

"How'd you get in today? Drive?" he asked, glancing out the window as another crack of thunder split the early morning air. "It's awful outside!"

"Nah," she mumbled, shaking her head no. "Car's in the shop. A few problems with the exhaust, you know." She averted his gaze.

"What've you got?" Joe asked, unable to quell his curiosity.

"A pickup truck," she answered immediately. When Joe didn't elaborate, she plopped down the rag on the counter and put a hand on her hip. "It's convenient," she admitted, throwing up a hand in exasperation. "Every now and again, the boss has me go pick up some extra things when we run out. It's useful. Comes in handy to have. Just the other night I went out."

"I hope he pays you."

Sharon Jones scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Yeah. That would be nice."

Joe Hardy let out a chuckle and shoved his coffee mug aside. "Oh. I took you for more of the 'sports car' type. Guess I was wrong, huh?" he teased.

Sharon sighed, leaning forward on the counter for support as she rested her elbows on the countertop. "Well, you know I dreamt of that. Didn't quite work out that way for me, but I'm still young. Could still happen."

"Sure are," Joe murmured, and though Ned could not see it given he was seated all the way over at the other end of the diner's bar, he grinned. "I've been meaning to ask you…what's your sign?" he asked rather playfully.

Even Ned rolled his eyes at that one. _C'mon, Joe. You can do better_.

"Ah, it's closed," Sharon groaned. "What's—what's your sign?"

"Yield right away in your case," Joe smirked, setting aside his phone which currently lay on the counter and sliding it back into his jeans pocket to make room for the enormous plate of pancakes he'd ordered.

"Has that really been working out for you, Joe?" Sharon asked politely.

"No, not yet. But you know what they say. Dog chases a car, doesn't mean he's gonna drive," Joe Hardy piped up happy, seemingly oblivious to Sharon's blatant disinterest in flirting with him. She busied herself folding napkins and making a show of re-arranging the silverware bundles.

"Yeah, that's…that's true," she mumbled, turning back towards the open kitchen window to bark a question at the cook. "How we doin' on the order?" she called out. The cook hollered something back. "Okay!"

Waitress Sharon Jones let out another weary sigh and took a seat across from Joe. Given Ned and Joe and an old blind man were the only diner's patrons now, and the only one still waiting for his order was Nickerson.

"So, what do you think of all these murders? You goin' out tonight?" Sharon asked Joe as she continued to look for things to do to stay busy.

Joe shook his head. "Nah. I'll leave that to the loonies."

Now it was Sharon's turn to laugh. "Yeah. We get 'em in here, that's for sure. Oh, thanks, honey!" she called out to a patron leaving the diner who waved and pointed toward her tip, a couple dollar bills and loose change.

"My friends are actually supposed to meet me here for breakfast." Ned could hear the pride in Joe's voice now and could almost see his chest puffing out a little. "We're sort of a group of detectives from River Heights, and we're here to find out what Todd Baines is up to and—"

"Baines is dead," came the old man's gruff voice from the corner booth.

Both Joe and Ned whirled around in their seats at the speaker. Ned didn't know this man, but it was clear from the look on Joe's face they had met.

Ned slunk further down into his seat as Joe stood from his stool that he'd been occupying, clearly deciding flirting with a waitress who was not interested was a lost cause, and to make better use of his time decided to head towards the old man's booth, and towards Ned's general direction.

Joe's eyes wandered the length of the corner booth, and his eyes finally landed on Ned's, who felt the heat rise to cheeks and redden maddeningly.

The younger Hardy brother froze, and for just a moment, a flicker of anger and fear passed through his face and in his eyes, and just as quickly as it had come, it was gone. "Ned," he greeted stiffly, no warmth in his tone. "What are you doing here? You're a long way from River Heights."

Ned's mind drummed up a thousand excuses to spout to Joe, the slightly more gullible of the two. For a moment, he was grateful he wasn't Frank.

But only one thing came to his mind. The truth about why he'd come.

His mouth, however, wouldn't form the words he wanted to tell him.

_Please, tell Nancy. Tell her to stay with me. I—I made a mistake. I feel like the distance between us is killing me, leaving me with no air in my lungs. I'm nothing but the dead whose heart has been broken by her, but God, I need her, more than the air I breathe itself. I came to get her back. _

_Will there come a day when I'll know the end of this? This damn vortex, this flooding, this heartburn, the screaming, the silence, all our fights. _

_Will there come a day when this will end, and why do I want it not to? _

Joe was glowering at Ned, standing at his tallest height he could whenever he was standing up straight. Shorter than Frank, he was stockier, and almost just as intimidating if not slightly more. What he lacked in height; Joe Hardy made up for it by going to the gym daily.

Ned opened his mouth to speak, but the tinkling bell of the door to the diner opening signaled a new arrival. Both Joe and Ned turned to greet the new arrivals. Joe's face relaxed into an easy smile while Ned's tensed.

"Oh," he breathed, his voice barely audible as he watched Nancy step into the entryway, Frank's arm around her shoulder, closer than Ned would have liked. Nancy lifted her chin to greet Joe, and when her eyes settled and locked onto Ned, she froze. Ned watched as her face paled and turned ashy. The poor thing looked like she was going to be sick. Ned felt an overwhelming sense of guilt wash over him, turning his insides to ice.

Letting his eyes drift down toward her ankle, he visibly flinched at seeing her foot still trapped in that damn boot, probably for a few more weeks.

"I uh…I—I didn't know you'd be here," Ned mumbled. Everything about this little accidental encounter was s horribly awkward. Nobody spoke. Nancy stood there frozen as Ned watched in awe her expression.

He saw nothing short of sadness and disgust on her beautiful face, almost hatred, as her face whitened with anger. She promptly turned on her heel, opened the door to the diner, stepped outside, expecting him to follow her.

Slowly, Ned followed suit. He had broken the unspoken rule. Never follow her uninvited, especially while not on a curse. She didn't want him getting hurt in the event something happened, but why did they even have rules to begin with? They had been in a relationship or so Ned had thought.

His legs refused to move, too shocked, too embarrassed at Nancy's reaction after allowing him to follow her outside the diner, away from prying eyes. This was the woman who said she loved him, cared for him, yet here he was being chased away from her life like he was a nobody, and for the first time in Ned's life, he understood what it felt like—being chased like a damn dog. He could only watch as Nancy walked away.

Not once did she look back as he stood there outside the diner, the wounded dog that he'd now become, licking his wounds, too embarrassed to move. This had been a _horrible_ idea, and he needed to go back home.

It wasn't long before Frank exited the diner, making to go after Nancy, but before even Ned realized what was happening, Ned had grabbed hold of Frank's t-shirt sleeve, preventing him from following the detective.

Ned felt like a wild beast pulling against its leash, and jabbed a finger in Frank's chest, feeling an overwhelming sense of jealousy encompass him.

"She's _mine_, Hardy. My girlfriend, not yours," Ned told Frank, watching the very anger drip from his words as he spoke them. "I was an idiot to walk away from her. I know that now. But I'm here to get her back, if she'll have me. You've always been there, but she chose _me_, Frank. Not you. I was there for all her troubles. I was there when she was sad from heartbreak, angry or hurt from the insults Deidre Shannon throws at her on a daily basis. I was there, by her side, helping and celebrating with her. I. Will. Not. Allow. You -to take her away from me. She..is.._mine_. Stay away from her, Frank."

White knuckles from clenching his fist too hard, and gritted teeth from the effort to remain silent, Frank's rigid form exuded an animosity that was like acid—burning, slicing, and potent. His face was red with suppressed rage, and when Ned even set a challenging finger on his shoulder, he swung around and mentally snapped, unable to take Ned's crap anymore.

Frank had never punched anyone before, not even in self-defense, so he was incredibly surprised at the pain that blazed up his right arm as his fist connected with Ned Nickerson's jaw. There was blood on his knuckles and a bruise above his right eye as the inevitable brawl between the two young men exploded and erupted into chaos, yet Frank couldn't recall the fight itself. The girls were screaming, Bess and George pleading with them to stop. Nancy had at some point come running back and was struggling to pull the enraged Frank off Ned, but Frank got what he wanted in the end.

Nancy was safe. The victory was his, and if Ned wanted another round, he would wait in the shadows, his fists lowered, but always at the ready.

When Frank first lifted his head to meet Nancy's gaze as she finally succeeded in wrenching the older Hardy brother off her ex-boyfriend, she did not recognize him. His gait was all wrong and his face too messed up.

He stumbled toward her like a scarecrow more than a man, all lopsided.

As he neared, her heart fell right through her sneakers. Frank was more purple and swollen than brown. His left eye was swollen shut, he couldn't be seeing a thing out of it and probably wouldn't for quite a while now.

His face still bore congealed blood and his clothes were a ruined mess.

Then he tried to say her name, his cracked lips failing at the first syllable, but he didn't need to. Nancy was already on her feet and running to Frank.

Frank couldn't recall how long their fight had gone on for, only Ned's final kick and the sound of his head hitting the ground. His face wasn't too bad, just the black eye and a cut above his eyebrow, the scarlet blood flowing into his eyes. And all the while there was Nancy holding him, crying and sounding muffled and faraway, like her heart snapped in two.

_His fault_, Frank thought weakly, glaring at Ned through his one good eye. One look at Nancy and Bess, George, and Frank was more than enough. They all saw it too. It was all Ned's fault, never Frank's.

_His fault. _


	12. High Stakes

Chasing was what the Black Lake Killer did best. He could not tell his victims what a pleasure it was hunting them down. Sometimes, he went back to the other night with the only one that had escaped him—the girl.

He played it over and over again in his mind. Her little friend had died so horribly, abandoned by the one she had tried to hard to save. Megan.

The man wondered if the other one, his new target had a chance tell the one that had escaped him if he loved her before he left her. Not smart.

If he could have, he would have died laughing every time he heard that.

It did make the girl strong, though, he could see that. And this one, too, he supposed. His new target, however, this boy, was immune in all kinds of ways he shouldn't be. It won't help him here, though. It'll just make the game last longer. _Goodbye, little rabbit, enjoy it while you still have a skin_.

Troy Wright's breath came in small spurts, hot and nervous. At his sides, tanned fingers curled into sweaty fists, swinging forward as if it would make him faster. Behind him, he could hear the footfall of _him_.

The Black Lake Killer. Mud smeared his sweaty face as sweat dripped from his matted blond hair. "Please, God, let me live," he screamed, throwing himself further with even greater abandon. His lungs and heart were pumping, but the air didn't seem to be enough as he sprinted forward, panic trembling in his limbs. "Hide, hide, have to hide," Troy moaned. "Oh shit, oh, God, I don't like this! What do I do, nowhere to hide..."

His palms were sweaty and the adrenaline coursing through his system was shutting down his ability to think logically. He wanted to run or beat the living daylights out of the one that was chasing him, either would do.

Troy kept running, but he knew his time was up. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something long and sharp coming towards him—was that a hook? He tried to dodge it and jump out of the way, but it was too late.

He screamed, giving away his position, but the pain was unbearable.

Troy felt his knees buckle as he collapsed to the ground, the notorious figure known to the other counselors as the Black Lake Killer, or BLK if you were a fan of your acronyms, towered over him, his face concealed beneath some sort of horrible mask. As he lay there, helpless, and bleeding out to his death, he saw an image of his family. That was only five years ago. His little brother and dad were still there, his mom hadn't left yet.

His vision clouded, and the world and his family faded away as the hook swung forward.

* * *

Distance was all that mattered. Megan wasn't stopping for anything and she sure as hell wasn't taking her foot off the gas pedal of Eve's rental car for a little rain, even though she had a feeling it was _so_ totally time to pull over. Her eyes flickered between the GPS display tracking her position while the world passed by a blur of white and yellow lights on the highway. The hiss of the tires over the smooth tarmac was lost under the soothing sounds of the artist Enya playing, her preferred music to calm down whenever her mind was flying into one of her rants as it was now.

She didn't know how she'd managed to get away from Eve. Technically, she shouldn't even be here right now, as a matter of fact.

It was a damn miracle she'd managed to escape with her life the first time following her escape from Alice's murderer's hideout in an old barn.

Megan did her best to block out the memory, taking a swig of water from her water bottle, ignoring her cell phone before finally turning it on silent as Eve's number showed up on her phone's display screen. If she went to jail for this, then so be it, but she _had_ to go home. It was time she helped put an end to this endless cycle of violence, pain and death. It took her reading the article's second installment for Megan Grunhild to finally come to her senses and take detective Nancy Drew's advice. Eve had mentioned something in passing about the Drew girl previously having been on a case in North Carolina, searching for a journal of a Captain James Baycroft, enough to intrigue the young blonde into reigniting her passion for history and did a little investigative research of her own. Although she would be the first to admit that what she discovered did not exactly thrill her. Quite the opposite in fact. It horrified her, and if she could not get to Nancy and the others in time, that was it.

Game over. No second chances. No, Megan had to do this. She owed it to Alice. Nancy and everybody in Bangor at Black Lake's camp were in danger.

So, here she was, in a stolen rental car on a very long drive headed home. Alice wouldn't have wanted her to behave like a coward. She might be the only way she could help stop anybody else from getting hurt. And Troy…At the thought of her boyfriend, well, she just hoped he would forgive her. They had said some truly nasty things to each other following Alice's death. They both said things they did not mean.

Megan could not stop the memory from playing in her mind, no matter what she did to try to block it out. She decided it was best to just let it.

* * *

The cold look reflected on the killer's face gave Megan shudders when the bag over her head was finally removed. His hands were tightly closed around the cold surface of something metallic, it looked like a horrible hook of some kind, the ones they used to gut fish or something. He seemed to have no sense of humanity. His heart seemed to be made of stone, the way he had brutally killed Alice Fredrickson and dumped her decapitated body right at Megan Grunhild's bound feet. She would never forget the evil glint in his beady eyes. The murderer had smelt of blood. Of danger.

"Please…" Megan begged, surprised she was able even to talk at all and form words. Though when she did, her voice was raspy, and weak.

She knew it was coming. Her muscles tensed as much as they could. The knowing still didn't soften the blow. Opening just one eye to see, Megan could only watch in horror as he set the hook down on a nearby table, and instead reached for a baseball bat. Megan recognized the Black Lake logo on the bat's handle.

Where he'd gotten that…

_The camp_, she thought horrified. _This creep sneaks into the camp!_ The bat was as hard as it looked, and her leg was no baseball. She felt the bone break into an untold number of fragments as her mind became inoperable. Her vision became blotched with violent colors that moved and merged without pattern or design. The wall of pain still crippled, but the killer's face—or his disguise, rather—swam back into her hazy view. He ripped the mask off, though his form was shrouded in shadow, making it impossible to see for herself who this man _really_ was. She could at the very least see the outline of his face, and his was just as you'd imagine it to be as if the man were simply waiting for a bus. Blank. Expressionless. Then the bat fell onto her other leg, but a noise from outside halted his battering of breaking poor Megan's legs, or trying to. Miraculously, they weren't. Megan drew in a sharp breath that pained her lungs and held it.

Once he was gone, she didn't dare look down at what was left of Alice's corpse. "Time to mourn you later," she mumbled. Slowly, she tried to get up, but quickly realized how futile it was when she had to bite her lip to keep from screaming and alerting her attempted escape to the killer.

Sharp pain lanced through her head and colorful spots flashed in front of her eyes. It felt like her whole body had been beaten, and in a way, she guessed it had. Every moment caused some bone or muscle to ache. Searing fiery bursts pulsated around the wound, intensifying with each dragging step, jarring and brutal. With each step the pain amplified, the bloody muscle quivered, her consciousness ebbed. Black mists swirled at the edges of her mind drawing her into sweet oblivion.

_Regardless, I need to get out of here. Away from that…creature_.

Wincing in pain, she started to grab the corners of the man's work tables, and at the cracks in the tile to help pull herself away and to the exit.

Megan was careful not to look at the other dead bodies scattered all over the barn's floor, some rotted and withered with age, others fresh.

But there was one second, one second, where she accidentally happened to look down, and she saw the head of Alice Fredrickson staring up at her, her brown eyes still wide open and terrified, her mouth in an eternally silent scream. Horrified, thinking she was going to be sick, Megan recklessly started crawling forward and…crack. Her hand came down on a piece of glass and she hissed in pain as the Black Lake killer came back inside…and regarded her in silence, his head cocked curiously.

"Please…" Megan whispered through gritted teeth, squeezing her eyes shut, fully prepared for this man to end her light right here and now.

_Just do it_, she thought, dismayed. There was no getting out alive.

But he didn't. When he moved toward her, Megan felt the fear clench in her throat, making it difficult to swallow. She was going to pass out, judging by the way her vision ebbed and flowed in black, swirling mists.

Megan's skin went ashen and she stumbled backward before she fell.

Surprisingly, and it was a good thing she had not been awake to hear it, the man who had taken her and Alice captive grabbed for her arms as she tumbled. Then she lay there on the grimy barn floor, as still as a corpse.

She barely breathed at all.

Megan woke as if it were an emergency. Sleeping had become a dangerous thing. Wincing at the pain in her head, she bolted upright.

This nightmare demanded a solution. _Run. Get out_, her voice said.

Cringing as she gingerly rose to her feet, amazed she was even able to walk, she could not move without a plant touching her pale skin.

_Where am I?_ she thought groggily, her vision still not fully returned.

Everything she had previously loved about the woods surrounding the Black Lake and the camp just this morning even before her abduction following the carnival was elevating her heart rate and killing her logical thinking capacity. The sheer denseness of the foliage had previously made her feel cozy, like in all this space, she could still be smug. The thousands of noises, the sameness, the noise was like a robber at your door, banging for entrance and the phone's battery—your lifeline—was dead and out.

The warm air of summer, so reminiscent of a sauna, had come to feel like soup in her chest. Megan would run for her life, but she didn't know which direction to take…A startled shout and a beam of light rent the air.

"Hello?" she screamed, though it wasn't very loud. She needed water. Stumbling forward, she was utterly relieved to see it was the old caretaker.

"Is anyone out here?" the old man's voice shouted, surprisingly loud for one so old.

"Cliff! It's me, Megan, over here!" she grunted weakly, clutching onto the old man's arm as he approached her with the last of her strength. "Can't walk," she moaned. "B—back there, A—Alice is dead, Cliff!"

Megan could hear old man Cliff saying something to her, but he sounded distant and muffled. Her stomach flipped as she thought about Helen's words, who was next on the scene to arrive and find Megan.

"My god!" she cried, her mouth hanging open in horror. "What happened?" It took Megan ten minutes before she calmed down enough to explain. When she had, the head counselor's face was devoid of color.

"Don't worry," came Greg's voice from behind Helen. Megan frowned.

_When did he get here?_ She wondered. _I—I didn't see him arrive. _Megan gagged a little at the thought of Cliff's calloused old hands tugging on her chin as he tilted her chin upwards so a paramedic could shine a little flashlight into her eyes to check her pupils to see if they were dilated.

Her body shook uncontrollably. She felt Greg's hands gently rest on her shoulders, but she jerked away, not wanting anybody to touch her.

The ringing in her ears soon stopped, her hearing the first thing to return, then her eyesight followed suit. Megan was still shaking as she pushed back onto her knees with Helen's help. Cliff was quietly squatting next to her, barking orders at another counselor to go get some blankets.

His breath formed white clouds in the freezing summer night air.

Megan was aware they were speaking to her, asking her questions, but she couldn't answer any of them. Clutching the blanket tightly around herself for warmth once one was brought to her, all she could do was cry.

One day she will grieve for Alice, but first, she would have to accept she was really gone. But for now, she purposely held that memory back.

It felt like a sheer vast of emptiness in Megan's heart, a nothingness that snowballed as memories from her own past gatecrashed and ambushed her too. But somehow, it took over and held her soul and threatened to kill her entirely. She couldn't help thinking, she should have stayed with Alice.

_I might have been able to protect you_, she thought, horrified. But she had not stayed with Alice, she had instead gone with Troy Wright.

So therefore, it was her fault that Alice was murdered.

_All my fault._

* * *

The song changing track jolted poor Megan out of the memory, for which she was secretly grateful. She leaned over to turn the next song up. Just a few more hours and she would reach Bangor. _Home_.

In that instant, she lost the opportunity to evade a newly broken-down car without its lights on. Even if she had been paying attention, she would have been hard pressing to make the maneuver. As it was, Megan barely had time to scream before the airbags knocked her back and sideways, reigniting the pain from her injuries. The car tumbled over and into the central barrier before coming to an absolute stop. Silence. It scared Megan more than the pain. She tried to move, but she was pinned by the roof, her neck aching. It didn't feel broken though, she could still move it, at least.

She was trapped. Now all she could do was hope for the best, and…

"Oh, thank God," she whispered, hearing the wailing of the sirens. Someone had already called the cops having witnessed the accident. Megan was going to be all right. Bangor was calling her home.


	13. Revelations

Nancy could hardly believe what she was seeing. Bess and George had (rather reluctantly) gone to tend to Ned, leaving her alone with Frank.

"Frank, what happened?" she asked quietly, wincing as she borrowed a hot rag from one of the waitresses and gingerly sponged off dried blood near Frank's nose. "I've never seen you and Ned go at it like that. What did he-?" she started to ask, but Frank held up a hand as best he could, angrily cutting her off.

"It's not important, Nan," he answered curtly. "I—I'm fine," he grumbled.

"Frank, this isn't something I can just brush under the rug! Tell me!"

"Later!" Frank snapped, fixing the detective with an icy dark stare.

Nancy fell silent, regarding her friend with a scrutinizing, narrow eye, but chose not to comment. There would be time to talk about this later, preferably away from within Ned, Bess, and George's earshot.

Her cell phone chirped. Glancing towards the edge of the booth, she turned back to Frank, as if to silently ask for permission to answer it. He gave a little jerk of his head, digging in her purse for her to hand it to her.

"Megan," breathed Nancy, awestruck, once she saw the caller ID on her phone's screen. Frantically pressing the 'Accept' button, she put the phone on speaker and gestured Joe, Bess, and George over with a wave of her hand. Ned followed to, and to that she furrowed her brow a little, but allowed it for now. _If he wants to help, then let him_, she thought angrily.

"Nancy?" came the young blonde's terrified voice. "I—I think I found him!" Her voice was barely audible, even on speaker. "He's here, old barn out on the other side of the lake. Cliff knows where it is, and he can't—"

"Is he there? The killer, have you spotted any sign of him? Why'd you go alone?" demanded Frank, his voice hoarse and cracked. Nancy flinched as she realized how difficult it was for him to speak. "With you, Megan, is he there? You need to get out of there right now and get somewhere safe? What's—what's near you?" He was practically shouting into the phone.

"N—nothing," she stammered, still being careful to keep her voice low. "It's…what? Oh, damn," she swore, and there was the sound of something scuffling, like Megan was changing positions to avoid being detected. "I—I have to go. I'm sorry. Come find me, old barn out on other side of Black Lake. Cliff can take you there." A beat. A pause. "I'm sorry, Miss Nancy. You were right from the very beginning. Alice would have wanted me to help you in any way I can. I think I know how. Meet me here, and hurry!"

Megan Grunhild abruptly ended the call before Nancy could so much as ask another question. She ended the call, that tingling familiar sense of dread creeping down her spine like a spider leaving a careful trail of silk in her wake, rendering the young detective frozen to her spot. "I, uh…"

She couldn't find her voice. The voices in her head were screaming to get in their car, broken foot or not, and punch the gas pedal to the floor until they got to that old barn Megan mentioned and drag her out of there kicking and screaming if they had to. "Megan's in trouble," she said quietly.

Cliff nodded. "Old barn out by Black Lake's far side. Kids don't go there. Place is condemned, and I'm surprised one of our nor'easter's didn't blow the damn structure to the ground the last one we got. It's a miracle it's still standing. If he's close by, that's probably where he'll be. But I'm not lettin' you kids go alone. No, we're callin' Sheriff Bennet in on this one, you lot."

Frank and Joe nodded, their eyes never once leaving Nancy. The expression on her face was unreadable, and they weren't sure they liked it. It was the face she wore whenever she was terrified, and she didn't want any outsider to see her true feeling. It was the mask she wore for others in times of stress. "Let's go get the sheriff then," mumbled Joe worriedly.

It was time to end this…

* * *

Eve sat on the wall, one hand clasping the point of her black heel. She looked down at her outfit, pretty much what she'd worn today to work: tailored black pants, black heels, her favorite heather gray button-down shirt with the three-quarter sleeves, and her press lanyard. Had she known that today would have ended with her being asked out on a date, she'd have brought a change of clothes, but the outfit was going to have to do.

With the nail of her blue manicured thumb in her mouth, she scanned the square, biting down harder than she had intended and swallowing the fragment. A pigeon was coming closer, rotating between pecking at the ground and observing her with its head cocked. She let out a laugh, releasing some of the tension. Modern dating these days was just shitty.

She was sick of telling guys about herself, only for them to decide it wasn't working, and that Eve was not what they were looking for, if she had to hear "It's not you, it's me" again she thought she'd puke. Then through the crowds came the handsome cop from this morning in jeans and a simple black wool sweater. "Wow," she whispered, careful to keep her voice low.

"You look great," he complimented warmly, holding out his hand for her to take. She did so, and Eli Rochester began to lead her to the café to grab a coffee and something to eat.

As first date starts went, it wasn't bad, not bad at all.

Eve curled her fingers into the palm of her hand, not even feeling them dig in. If she didn't fancy this guy, she'd be funny and flirtatious, since she did her mouth was full of sawdust and her brain was malfunctioning as much as if she were drunk. But if he noticed, he didn't seem to mind it one bit.

She compulsively checked her cell phone throughout the date for messages from Megan, and she was starting to get worried. And she said as much to him on their walk following a simple snack of a cup of black coffee and a chocolate frosted donut. "I'm taking care of this kid, Eli, and she hasn't called. She was one of the victims of the Black Lake killers, you know?"

"The ones in Maine?" Eli seemed surprised by this. "What's she doing all the way out here in River Heights. Wait a minute," he said suddenly, his brow furrowed thoughtfully into a frown. "I recognize you. You're Lana Graham's assistant, aren't you? The other reporter for QTV, right?"

Eve nodded, unable to quell the feeling of dread rising and warming her innards. "Yes," she admitted, thinking it would do her no good to lie. "She—I guess she was traumatized by what happened. I don't blame her, I would have been too, and I was kind of surprised she agreed to the interview, honestly, but now she's not returning my calls." Seeing Eli's confused expression, she added, "I have the girl staying at my place for now."

"Do you want to go back and check on her?" he asked, frowning. That gave Eve pause. She barely knew this guy yet, and he seemed genuinely concerned. "I don't mind," he added, no hint of disappointment in his tone.

"Maybe, but we can go in a little while, after we finish our walk," Eve murmured, feeling her hand move of its own accord and slip into Eli's instinctively. Their first date had been cracking sidewalks and watery sunshine that struggled past the clouds. They had made several loops of their block, how many neither of them can recall. On the first few circuits the talk had been shy, almost becoming familiar and then each of them backing away. Another few circuits and they knew more about one another than many members of their own family, their fingers entwined in a loose grip. On the final loop around Eli had pulled Eve close into a kiss that stopped all her anxious thoughts dead in their tracks. They both knew in that instant they had found their other half and that fate had dealt them a dangerous hand...If only both knew just how much was at stake…

* * *

Nancy shifted in her seat, feeling uncomfortable, glancing down at her outfit, wishing that she could have been back in her shorts and t-shirt, but no, here she was in a pair of black pants, a white camisole, and a short-sleeved gray cardigan, her hair pulled up into a loose bun, a pair of rimless glasses perched on her face, her makeup simple and neat, courtesy of Bess's handiwork for her visit to the coroner's office to appear 'professional.'

"Miss Drew?" called out a man's voice as a door opened. "You can come on back now," he muttered cheerily, waving Nancy and Frank over. "Sorry for the delay, it's been nuts." The coroner was somewhat too tall for his build, were a few inches shorter, he would be even more handsome for it.

It was as if he stopped growing only to be stretched on one of those medieval racks a half-foot more. His face was mostly obscured by a red scraggly beard that clung to his skin like winter ravaged ivy tendrils. He met Nancy's gaze not with the shyness of his father before him, but with a blunt refusal to avert his gaze first. Nancy thought it strange. How odd to see those half-familiar features devoid of warmth, like they were stolen away from him when he was but a child.

The morgue smelled heavily of chemicals, and Nancy shifted her black Rosetti purse on her shoulder and resisted the urge to pinch her nose.

"How can I help you folks today? You both cops?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest once he shrugged into his white lab coat.

"Sort of," Frank piped up. "We're here to ask you a couple of questions, that's all. We were hoping you could tell us about Todd Baines, sir."

At that, the man's smile faded, and his face grew crestfallen. There was no mistaking the fear in his eyes, or the fidgety, nervous demeanor as he picked up a scalpel and chest spreader and pretended to clean the instruments. "It was a right mess, it was. I'd never seen anything like it. Kid's lungs were full of water, his lips blue when they brought in the body. I hope the kids that did it truly feel remorse for what they did. They knew the kid wasn't a good swimmer," he spat bitterly, not able to keep the hatred from seeping into his otherwise pleasant tone as he spoke to them.

"Was his body buried?" asked Nancy, unable to keep silent any longer.

"No," whispered the coroner, suddenly sounding ashamed. "The day his body was brought in, it was a madhouse in here. I went out back to sign a few release forms, and when I came back I…It went _missing_. Like—like the boy had somehow crawled back to life and just walked on out of here like a goddamn zombie. We weren't able to find it, ever," he confessed.

"So, Todd might still be alive?" Nancy challenged, hoping that her eyes did not betray her fear as she questioned the county coroner. "Do you think he is?"

The coroner fixed them both with an icy cold stare before answering.

"Yes. Yes, I do. I think the man's still alive, somehow, and whoever he's after, you'd better pray the cops find 'em before he does, otherwise…"

His voice trailed off as a muscle in his jaw twitched, and the coroner looked away sharply, excusing himself as he returned to work, interview over.

"Now what?" Frank asked, once they'd stepped outside, lingering outside the car for a moment before getting inside. "Nance, I don't like this at all."

"I don't either, but we don't have a choice, Frank," Nancy whispered. "We have to go out to that old barn. _Right now_. We have to end this."

* * *

"You've _got_ to be _kidding_ me. _Here_? He lives _here_. That's disgusting." Nancy's eyes blearily adjusted to the darkness once Frank had pulled up in the rental car, bidding Cliff to wait in the car in case they needed help. She knew where to go. The old barn was where he was. _The Black Lake killer_.

A nightmare in her eyes and mind without ever having to sleep. The dry winds carrying the poor victims' strangled screams and faint voices. The flashes of light in the darkness. The blood dripping from the eyes of those trapped within his canvas, made of sorrow and dread. Their blood staining every wall, their tears filling the well that lay vacant with merely a broken bucket hung by a mere string of rope. Spiders wove their tales of woe in a code only the dead and the dying could read. Crows flew over the house to eat the souls that could not hide, could not leave. This desolate place that inhabited no breathing man, was not a place of fear, but rather silence. The air smelled as if it hadn't moved in years, festering like a stagnant pool of water. Nancy shone the beam of her flashlight inside, Frank trailing close behind. The sheriff was on his way, about twenty minutes out, still finishing up responding to a domestic violence disturbance between a pair of hunters.

Aside from an errant shaft of moonlight that burst through a crack in the boarded-up window, it was the only light in the old barn. So, Nancy pushed it shut and turns off her beam, her smile no more than a nervous grin. "Oh, damn, Frank, I can't believe we're doing this." Click.

The door locked and suddenly the room was as light as it would be on a summer's day with the windows bare. "Oh, shit, shit, shit," Nancy moaned.

"Where is he?" whisper-hissed Frank through clenched teeth, reaching for Nancy's hand and giving it a tight squeeze. The old barn would have been a tear-down in any other district, but there was no money here. He kicked the rotting door to enter a side room, searching for any sign of Megan.

The air in the barn was more winter than summer, and it was darker than either detective would have thought. Nancy moved to the old windows and removed some dirt and grime with the edge of her t-shirt. The view outside was all wrong, the trees were too short, and the road wasn't tarmac but dirt. Nancy felt the blood drain from her face. Then she heard him, the man... "Caught you."

"SHIT!" Nancy screamed, not giving a care about etiquette anymore. "Run, Frank!" she shouted, not hesitating to grab his hand and pull him along. Whoever he was, he was coming for them, and they couldn't stop him. They couldn't stop someone of brute force like this, even though they outnumbered him, he outweighed them by several pounds and was strong.

Still, he hunts them down the hallways of this strange barn that seemed to Nancy to be built almost like a labyrinth, calling their names as if he were their friend—but in his hands was an axe and he meant to twist it in their guts when he got close enough. Nancy had been running in a scattered way, run and hide, rinse, repeat. Now, her heat beat in her chest like it meant to explode, and her mind was a scattered mess. She was admittedly not cool under pressure; she would be the first to admit that about herself.

Their chaser was a flesh and blood man and meant to send them straight to Hell, just the same. _If it really is Todd, I don't know that I can reason with him_, Nancy thought wildly, making sure Frank was right by her side.

This man, whoever he was, was nothing but unbridled rage, maliciousness and he took twisted delight in his victims' fear. She would run until there was no skin left on her feet, and when she couldn't, then she'd crawl…

"Stop," came the command, curt and harsh. Nancy froze, rooted to her spot. Nancy turned around slowly, feeling her breath catch in her throat.

She'd been able to learn from Cliff and the other counselors back at the camp that several stories were told about Todd Baines, and apparently, all of them were true. Legend says that his heart died in his chest cavities long ago, that it putrefied and made a heavy slime about his lungs as thick as underworld tar. That's how the young man became a killer and perhaps why. The people that knew him growing up say his emptiness is his madness, that he takes life over and over as if he may possess the hearts and souls, yet never so. To be healed, someone pure had to love Todd Baines, to reform his heart as if it was the finest of clay, then set it to beating with pure nature's essence. So, until he could find such a being to forgive all that Baines had done throughout his life, to break the universal scales and set his shattered soul free to begin anew, the killings and violence would go on.

The Black Lake Killer's voice was like the magma chamber of a volcano, deep, but filled entirely with the molten rock. His voice could be powerful enough to make your bones feel like they were vibrating. When he spoke, everyone's heads would turn, whether they knew him or not, they listened.

His voice was just so deep, so full...

"Turn around." The man's voice was clipped, hard, and losing patience.

"Nance," pleaded Frank. "Don't do this. Just—don't—don't look at him."

Nancy turned around cautiously, drawing in a sharp breath as she found herself face-to-face with a huge, hulking man, stocky and easily towering over both her and Frank at least around seven feet tall, maybe more.

"Oh, God," she whispered, her voice cracking. The cold look reflected in his dead eyes gave her the shudders and sent a tremor of icy fear down her spine. His hands were tightly closed around the handle of the axe. The Black Lake Killer seemed to have no sense left of humanity. His heart seemed to be made of stone, the way he'd brutally killed all these people…

Nancy knew she would never forget the evil glint in his beady eyes. The murderer had smelled of blood. Of danger, there was no way out, and—

"Todd," came a female's voice, soft and quiet. Nancy felt her breath catch in her throat as a silhouette came into view, just behind Todd Baines' towering form. "Todd, can you hear me? Don't do this, Todd, please…"

The young woman's arms stood stiffly at her side, as she stepped forward into the light, her blonde hair pulled into a loose bun, her suit seemingly looking out of place in this decrepit barn that looked like one good gust of wind would blow her down. "Todd, it's Jessica. It's your sister."

Except Nancy did not know this woman as Jessica Baines.

She knew her as Dr. Elizabeth Halstead.


	14. A Call for Help

Author's Note: Oh, Lordy, where to start. I am so sorry for the long delay in posting. Life got busy for a while, and then I sort of hit a wall with this story as I realized I was trying to tell multiple angles all at once and kind of interconnect them all so it all came together at the end, and I hit a bad bout of writer's block there for several long months, but I'm back now and hope to finish up this story and give everyone the endings I feel they deserve.

* * *

As Eve listened to the voicemail message on her phone, one from Megan, exclaiming hastily why she'd had to flee the sanctuary of her safe space that was Eve's apartment, and the girl had left about eight hours ago while she was at work and then on her date with Eli, in her intense silence she somehow screamed with her whole body. The eyes wide with horror, the mouth rigid and open, her chalky face gaunt and immobile, the fists clenched with blanched knuckles and the nails digging deeply into the palms of her hand. The screams filled her eardrums, and then there was the voice.

_His_ grating voice.

"Hello, Eve," it breathed into the receiver. "Fitting that you're named after the Temptress who brought upon man's downfall. Stop the story on the Black Lake Killer, or your little friend dies," came the man's voice, which came out in a low, threatening growl. "You want to know where she is? Well, she's here. And you've got eight hours to see her before she winds up on the news reported officially murdered in a ditch. You're a good reporter, Miss Vanderhilt, so I take it I don't need to tell you where to find me. Come find me where the crow flies. You'll know where to go. Eight hours."

Click. End of voicemail.

We can never truly feel another's pain, but that scream of Megan Grunhild's over the speaker came close, rendering Eve immobile. It was the kind of scream that puts every other thought on hold and roots everyone close in the very same agony, which in this case, happened to be Eve, and the reporter didn't know what to do. The message had abruptly ended, and Eve was hardly aware that she was frozen, remained rooted to her spot, and then she wasn't at all.

The reporter was moving about the room like there was a hurricane inside of her. Officer Eli watched the young woman from his dreams move like her brain was demanding the energetic expenditure of the athlete he knew she was but wouldn't tell her limbs what to do. Her hazel eyes were wild and when Eli made Eve sit, she started rocking, rocking.

The young woman got faster and faster until he exploded into motion.

Suddenly, she was talking. Talking like she didn't have enough time to say whatever it was that Eve needed to, whatever was weighing on her mind. Her words were crowded together, and some were missing, but Eli only caught snippets here and there. "…. missing…. Lana's going to kill me for letting her escape…the killer's alive, I just know it…"

Eve's sentences were fragmented, and her thoughts seemed to jump from one thing to another. All her fears came tumbling out of her mouth unchecked by his brain, he was in some kind of mental free fall, unable to analyze anything or assess risk. Eli's words were bouncing off Eve like hard rain.

Now she was right in front of him, her fingers were white-knuckled, holding onto the front of Eli's collared shirt and she was asking Eli if everything was going to be okay, to not make her go back to Maine after Megan. Eli told Eve yes. He told her over and over, stroking her back as the cop gingerly forced the young reporter to resume sitting, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead. Eli needed Eve to be _calm_.

Her already pale face was white—way too white and ashen to be normal and her eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, and the look was not one that suited Eve Vanderhilt at all.

This behavior was starting to scare Eli, though the cop did not know exactly how to phrase what was on his mind now.

"Eve?" he whispered slowly, stroking his fingers through her mane of dark hair the way he liked it, running his fingers through her wavy hair. "You gotta talk to me. Tell me what's going on. I can't help you unless you tell me what's…" But Eli's voice trailed off as he caught sight of both their reflections in a nearby mirror, a full-length rectangular one which Eve had hung in the living room.

The young woman's cheekbones maintained a sunken in look, slightly gaunt and hollow, but it was her eyes that scared the cop more than anything else.

How they held a deadness, a stillness even. An emptiness.

Eve had a look in her eye Eli had seen before, but not on her, or on a person for that matter. It's the look he had seen in the horses' eyes when they came in for schooling at the ranch back home on his parents' farm, wild, not even knowing what people are. It did not belong on her face and this scared Eli.

Eve Vanderhilt, he learned on their date, was one who always knew what to do, even in a crisis like this. Then, Eli watched in dismay as she buried her head in her hands, mumbling something incoherent, and Eli stomped his foot in a moment of frustration. "Just speak louder!" he huffed irately.

Eli visibly cringed as Eve's head whiplashed upward. He hadn't meant to blurt it out, and especially not that way, but the young woman was giving the cop no choice. Eli couldn't help her unless she talked to him.

"I _said_," she bellowed irately, "I have to go, Eli."

"Go?" Eli froze, hardly daring to believe it. "Go where?"

The next word that left her lips was barely more than a whisper, and the young man had to strain forward to hear his date. "Maine," she whispered.

"Why?" Eli recognized his voice must have sounded curt, for the hurt look in Eve's eyes was evident as she looked at him, and Eli swallowed the lump forming in his throat, and reminded himself that Eve needed her right now to be strong.

"Look, I don't have a lot of time to explain. I'm doing a story with Lana on the Black Lake Killer, you know, the ones that have been grisly and happening up in Maine? Well, the kid supposedly died via drowning, but I've never thought so. I think he's still alive, or—or maybe it's a copycat killer, b—but that's not important, one of the girls I was interviewing was one of the perp's victims, the only one to ever escape him. She—she didn't feel safe in Maine anymore, so I let her have a place to stay here while I finished up her interviews, a—and now…" she stammered, rising to her feet and grabbing her purse, slinging it over her shoulder and haphazardly running a brush through her dark locks before throwing it up into a low ponytail. "I—I got a call j—just now," she stammered, pointing to her cell phone which he had slid in the pocket of her purse. "I—I wish I could tell you more, Eli, but I can't. If I do, your life will be in danger too. No."

"Why do you have to go?" he demanded hotly, watching as Eve ran about her living room, seeming like a chicken with her head cut off as she darted about, grabbing a duffle bag from a storage closet and darting into her bedroom, re-emerging less than ten minutes later, seemingly fully packed.

"I can't tell you, Eli!" she snapped, not looking at him.

But that wasn't good enough for her date.

"Why not?" The police officer demanded hotly, her hands on her hips, her foot tapping in annoyance.

Eli caught sight of his reflection in Eve's mirror and he froze. His blue eyes, normally quite expressive, the color of a clear blue sky through a broken prison wall, the color of a perfect raindrop on a blue aster, the color of a river hurrying to join the ocean, were currently narrowed to slits, the emotions in the cop's eyes fathoms deep, and right now, they were pissed. Angry at Eve Vanderhilt' s inability or rather, reluctance to tell him vital information about why she was behaving the way that she was, and it annoyed him.

"Why can't you please just tell me what's going on?" Eli begged, biting his bottom lip hard enough to crack and bleed. "I'm a cop, I can help you."

Eve glanced up from her packing, looking every bit like a deer that had been caught in a pair of headlights, not sure what to do, wide-eyed and afraid, a pained look on her beautiful features. "Because I made a promise," she answered solemnly, tossing her ponytail over her shoulders. "One of my friends' lives might be in danger, and I really have to go, Eli, _now_…I wish I could tell you more, but I just can't, Eli. I…" But she trailed off and did not complete her sentence.

The cop huffed in frustration, folding his thick arms across his chest. "Fine," he sighed, wearily pinching the bridge of his nose with her thumb and forefinger, fighting off the beginnings of a splitting headache. "I can see I won't be able to talk you out of this, even though this is starting to scare me."

"It should," Eli croaked hoarsely. "You need to stay here."

"No way," Eli answered firmly, and Eli was fully prepared for that all-too familiar look of anger from his date, he had seen it twice from her tonight, once when a guy in the restaurant had accidentally groped her after having too much to drink, and another time when a kid with a family of four had sat behind their table and was whining his dislike for peas.

"I really like you, Eve," he explained slowly, cringing at the awkwardness of it all. "If you or your friend are in danger, I want to help. You're not getting rid of me that easily, ma'am. I'm coming with you and that's that," he said, lowering his voice an octave, as the cop realized that he would never be hers. If only he could make her see, but…Eli had seen it.

Eve was entirely too distracted right now, and this had quelled his desire to ask the woman for a second date, but maybe…if they both made it out of this alive, then perhaps.

Eli felt the heat rise to his cheeks as he could feel Eve looking in his direction, she grinned that shy little smile of hers and the young man snapped his head away, knowing that if he continued to stare, Eli would say something he would probably come to regret later on. He could feel the reporter's eyes still on him, as he silently inhaled and exhaled, hoping that her thoughts about him were good.

The police officer's heart thumped so hard that he swore it was audible, their eyes had met, and she smiled. It was only a small smile, but it was enough to make him go weak at the knees. "Fine," Eve relented at last, sagging her shoulders and swinging her now full duffle bag over her shoulders.

Eli grinned, feeling rather smug at his little victory.

"How soon can you pack?" Eve demanded. "We need to go…"

"Gimme ten minutes," he promised. "Meet me at my house, just down the street?" Eli asked, grabbing his jacket and darting out the door, but not before giving the young woman a brief but affectionate kiss on the cheek. "It's gonna be all right, Eve," he promised, but as he exited, even the cop was having trouble believing his own words.

A crush was nothing more than a lust for someone. That did not change anything in his eyes. Eve was still always there in his mind.

Eli finally admitted to himself what he had known all along but was too afraid to admit it: he liked Eve Vanderhilt. A lot. And he wanted to be with her, but he knew she did not want it.

Whenever their eyes locked, her eyes burned his like Eli had been staring at the sun for too long without his sunglasses. She was his crush, but she would never be his. That much Eli knew.

* * *

There were plasma screens of arrival and departure times on the wall of the airport. People were lined up at the check in desk with suitcases and baggage. There was a sculpture of a whale with water cascading from its mouth and flowing down its tail flukes. In the background soft classical music played. In the arrivals lounge there was a curious mixture of bored and excited people. Some looked like they were waiting for a bus, others like they were children waiting for Santa himself. Some lounged on the low comfy chairs and others bounced on their toes. The airport looked more like a shopping mall than anything Eli or Eve had expected. The tiles under foot gleamed white and everywhere were people milling around.

There were two glass elevators leading to an upper floor which had the appearance of a food mall. And in the middle of several large open areas were blue fabric covered seats. The air was cool and only the faint aroma coming down from the food area gave it any scent. Some stairs lead up to a viewing deck where eager children watched the airplanes take off and land. There were mounted telescopes for them to look through and the back wall was one large window. Behind the telescopes was a scale model of the airport with the runways marked on it. Eve, as soon as they found their departure gate, didn't hesitate to grab Eli's hand and break into a mad run, running as though her life depended on it. For what little Eli knew, it did…

By the time they got situated and boarded the plane, little mini bags of pretzels and water bottles passed out, Eli let out a haggard sigh as Eve's anxiety began to creep to the surface again. He'd hoped the Xanax he'd given the young reporter would have calmed her down quite a bit, but that did not look to be the case. He didn't have too long to wait, however. "Drowsy," that's what the label warned both Eli and Eve to expect.

Minutes after the pill had slid down his throat, Eve felt her focus diminish.

She felt herself drift into consciousness. And then back out. The world was a blur, and random images seemed to float aimlessly around in the pool of her thoughts, as though they were being blown about viciously by a hurricane. A tap on her shoulder momentarily brought her back to the outside world, but after a second, she was once again lost. Eve could feel somebody trying to look at her, staring dead in the eye, probably Eli, to see if she was all right, but she couldn't keep focus. The whole world simply felt low resolution, a bad quality movie. Confusion blossomed in her heart and Eve knew that sooner or later she would need to wake up, and by then she would be back to the one place where he never hoped to go again. Maine.

To stare reality in the face, to accept the fact that she had royally screwed up by letting Megan go and not keeping better tabs on her, and now her life was in danger. Lana was going to be so _pissed_ whenever she found out.

But for now, Eve lay down her heavy head, and retreated into wallowing blackness. In her dream, the ghost was more silent than the grave it arose from, staring with heavy lidded eyes and a slack mouth. Her cheekbones accentuated the skeletal look and in her gaze Eve's mind was robbed of emotion. Instead of running, or screaming, she stood more still than the mossy statue in the heart of the graveyard and just as cold. She beckoned with fingers that rapidly faded to only a suggestion of form. Eve passed each stone without taking account of the path until she soon stood in a place that was unrecognizable. She became more solid again, but this time her skin bore many silver scars, thick and jagged.

Eve began to think new things, like, "I want to stay here with her, forever." The thought became a desire and her insides lit with an intensity to make it possible. Her body crumpled to the dirt, leaves and mud met the side of her face and her knees curled up like an unborn. It was then he heard Megan—or was that Lana or Nancy? She couldn't quite tell— shout her name, over and over. Eve opened her mouth to speak but nothing would come.

She was frantic, yelling, scared….

* * *

"Eve? E? Wake up!" Eli's voice reached her eardrums, along with a sharp jab to her rib cage. Though her eyes were open, she couldn't think of why; her heart was pounding, mind empty. It was as if a hypodermic of adrenaline had been emptied into her carotid. Eve strained into the utter darkness, breathing rate beginning to steady. A nudge to her ribs made her jerk upright, to discover they were in an unfamiliar rental car to see Eli's smiling face.

_ How long was I out? I really hope it wasn't long_. "I had to wake you up, because you weren't listening." Eli poked Eve's side. _How would he know that If I don't even say anything? I guess my eyes being closed sort of gave me away_. "Now I have to tell you everything again." His hands were white knuckled on the steering wheel with an effort to steady the car. "You good?"

"Where…where are we?" Eve groaned, a hand on her forehead as she rested against the backrest of the stiff leather of the passenger seat. Suddenly, she wasn't quite sure she wanted to know the answer.

When Eli's voice spoke again, his response chilled her bloodstream. "Maine."

So, they were really here, then. The Black Lake Killer had called her back.


	15. Trapped

"Todd, it's me. It's your sister. It's Jessica. It's okay, Todd. I'm here now." Nancy heard Dr. Halstead's words, but she was having trouble processing them and putting the pieces together. How could she be…?

"I—I don't understand," she whispered hoarsely. Suddenly, her throat felt dry and a thick mucus seemed to coat at the back of her throat, rendering it difficult for her to speak. She took a ginger step forward, much to Frank's chagrin as he immediately shot out an arm to prevent the young detective from taking another step towards Dr. Halstead.

Nancy watched, horrified, as Todd Baines' massive form began to tremble and shake. Whether it was out of anger, shock, or inability to process what was happening around him, she didn't know, but she recognized the classic signs of danger welling deep within the man's burly chest, and if they did not do something to help Halstead, she would die.

"Elizabeth, come with us," pleaded Nancy, her voice barely above a whisper as she felt Frank gingerly tugging on the sleeve of her baseball t shirt. "We have to get out of here. Call the cops. They'll deal with him."

"NO!" bellowed Elizabeth, her face paling in anger. "They'll kill him," she said, and Nancy could hear the crack in the professor's voice.

"Dr. Halstead," urged Frank, careful to keep his voice low, while at the same time backing away, putting as much distance between the Black Lake Killer and him and Nancy as he could without it seeming obvious. "Your brother isn't right. He's killed people in horrible ways. He needs to face justice for his crimes, a—and maybe they can put him someplace."

"Get out of here," was Elizabeth Halstead's only response. Her tone was clipped and hard, and Nancy recognized that the woman was on the verge. But on the verge of _what_? If she truly was Todd Baines' sister, would she too have a mental breakdown? Did this sort of thing run in their family? And too, there was no mistaking the note of fear in her voice, how the professor's voice crackled and warbled as she stared up at the hulking, towering form of Todd Baines, a serial killer with a football player's build and who easily outweighed them all by at least a hundred pounds. When neither Nancy nor Frank moved, she felt her head whiplash sharply behind her, though her gaze flitted uncomfortably from the pair of detectives to her brother, who'd not said one word since.

"No." Her voice did not sound quite as confident as Nancy would have liked, and she knew both Dr. Halstead and Frank, and perhaps even Todd Baines heard the hesitation in her tone, the uncertainty…the fear.

Elizabeth Halstead—_no, no, no. Jessica, her name is Jessica_, Nancy thought wildly, shaking her head and cursing herself for being so stupid, turned to regard both Nancy and Frank with an incredulous look on her face. "Did you not hear me?" she shouted, stomping her foot. "I gave you an order! Your lives are at stake here, and you're in no condition to run a marathon," she growled darkly, glancing at her foot in the boot.

"B—but—I…" Nancy started to say, and her gaze fell upon Todd. She swallowed at the black, soulless look in those eyes that were like the pits of Tartarus, just waiting to claim another soul. In this case, hers and Frank's. But she was not given a chance to elaborate further as the Black Lake Killer let out a guttural warning growl from the back of his throat and threw the axe he'd been holding in his hand. Nancy screamed and ducked and would have had her head chopped off had she not ducked at the precise moment the weapon hit the wooden beam she stood behind.

"Todd, no!" Jessica begged, and moved to stand in front to stop her older brother, but with that simple gesture of trying to block his way, it cost her dearly. The slap was as loud as a clap and stung her face. It had been an open-handed smack and it had left a red welt behind.

Just below her eye was a small cut where the ring had caught her. She staggered backwards, clutching her face, eyes watering. "GO!" she yelled.

Frank and Nancy hesitated, wanting to stay and help Jessica, but she screamed it again. "GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!" she screamed.

They did not need to be told a third time. Grabbing her arm, Frank pulled Nancy forward, grunting with the effort to drag her along. "Hold on, Nan," he moaned. "Forgive me for this, Nan, but I can get us out of here _faster_ if you cooperate with me, you can't run with me with your foot in that damned cast, and…" he apologized, trying to apologize to her with his eyes for what he was about to do. "I'm sorry. This goes against everything I was ever taught. A—and please don't tell Joe about this."

"What are you talking about…?" she asked, but was given no chance to doubt her friend, though a tiny squeak of fear escaped her lips. Frank Hardy swung his fist, hard as stone as it landed on a delicate cheek. Nancy's eyesight blurred, but not because tears were welling up.

Everything became fuzzy; then the woman saw nothing at all. Her consciousness was floating through an empty space filled with a thick static. Throughout the inky space Nancy Drew's heartbeats pounded loudly, echoing in her ears, alongside her fading pleas for help and mercy. She heard a woman screaming just before she fainted. _Is it me...?  
_

Feeling in her body drained away until finally all was black.

* * *

Nancy awoke to the frigid cold of an unfamiliar room that smelled dank, moldy and smelled of death. The coppery taste of blood lingered on her tongue and settled there. She blearily lifted her head and tried to focus her gaze more than a few feet in front of herself.

"Where am I?" she moaned, looking around to the best of her ability. For a moment, she wondered what had happened, and then it hit her, as though she had been doused with a bucket of ice water and she froze as she felt her insides curdle and freeze. "Todd!"

The young woman held out her hands as a means of defending whatever might come her way, soaking up whatever ghosts no doubt haunted this place, wherever 'this place' happened to be for Nancy Drew. She felt them circulate right through her heart and become even quieter whispers, hearing the victims' screams. The room she was in was, for lack of a better word, roomy, airy and eerie. An uneasy breeze blew down the corridor and gripped Nancy with its chilly touch and she felt a tremor of cold and fear travel down her spine and she clutched herself, wrapping her arms around her midriff, wishing she'd thought to brought a sweatshirt or a jacket. The chill's fingers circled around Nancy's body, tenderly fondling every inch of the young redheaded college student, pulling her shoulders tight together as she huddled into herself for warmth. The furthest door from him had been left open slightly ajar, allowing a glorious amber to meander like a narrow stream across the hall. Her mind instructed her not to move, but her body rose from her perch huddled in the furthest corner of the room, trying to ignore the musky smell of sweat and sex that seemed to cling to her body like a disease, refusing to leave her alone. She remembered what had happened, and desperately wished that she could remember any detail of his face.

Nancy felt her foot take one step, then another, leading her towards that amber light like a moth toward a flame, only the moth didn't know where it was heading, and Nancy did. To her death, undoubtedly.

Every step she took was met with a discordant shriek from the worm-rotted disgusting floorboards. Gingerly, Nancy outstretched her arm and pushed open the door. It was a living room. In minutes, the room was dark once more and a fire crackled in the hearth. Nancy could feel the heat and there came a soft music, lyrics with it too, though the words eluded her. The floorboards creaked behind her and she turned. There stood the silent, stealthy Black Lake Killer, his form towering over hers.

Though Nancy was not fooled. It was a miracle she opened her voice to speak, and nothing came out but a tiny, breathy squeak. Wherein she did find it again, her voice was rough and coarse, barely above a whisper.

"Help me," she whispered, wildly glancing around the room for means of an escape, but no one was coming for her. "Frank?" she croaked.

The killer's grin merely widened, and she could not help but feel an enormous sense of fear. It paralyzed her, rendered her frozen to her spot and unable to move.

He said nothing for several long, excruciating minutes and Nancy wondered if this guy talked. Years of isolation and living alone might have rendered him mute, but then he opened his mouth and spoke with a slow, deliberate calmness. "No one's coming for you. It's just you and I here, as it should be. Welcome to my home, Nancy Drew," he smiled at her, and spoke with all the courtesy of a gentleman, as if he were offering her an iced tea instead of presumably being about to rip out her heart and eat into her throat where the man stood. His words dripped with sarcasm, and she could hear the anger in his voice. "It's so kind of you to visit me in my loneliness."

With an ashen face and beads of sweat forming on her brow, Nancy let her eyes roam the room for escape options. The floors were solid oak plank beneath the dust, the walls were brick behind plaster. There was the front door, the window, and whatever lay behind her in the kitchen, Nancy surmised, thinking quickly. Before she'd made two steps away, her legs locked straight and she fell harder than a stone statue onto her face, and blood pooled on her tongue, and that was another bruise she'd have on her eye.

"That wasn't very nice of you," the Black Lake Killer snapped, sticking out his bottom lip in a pretend pout. "You hurt my feelings, Nancy," he growled, losing all semblance of warmth in his mock hosting tone. "Are you one of those mean girls?" he taunted, though now Nancy startled at the shift in his voice. He sounded…bored? Yes, bored. And that could only spell trouble for her. Nancy lifted her head and winced at the sudden gush of warm crimson that leaked from both her nostrils.

Her nose had swollen to the size of a baby yam and her face was disfigured from the fall. After a few moments, she felt herself lift into the air and rotate until she was upside-down. Blood rushed to the already angry wounds and began to drip freely. Nancy could see the man had taken a seat in an overstuffed leather armchair, his legs draped over the edges of the armrest, and he swiveled his head lazily to look up at her, his gray eyes almost dull and lifeless.

"Take a look at the pictures," the man said, and at once the room was bathed in a steady ethereal glow. The man had clipped newspaper clippings to the wall. Nancy gingerly crept closer, and she froze.

"Killings…" Todd Baines had followed media coverage of all his efforts. "B—but why? And what did you do with Frank and Jessica?"

"Safe," was all he answered. "_You're_ the one that's a problem."

"If I bring you down, will you play nice?" Todd Baines asked, feigning concern in his voice. Nancy wanted to open her mouth to scream for help, to find out what he had done with Frank, really done with him, if Frank and Jessica were dead, to cuss and shout obscenities at the monster above her, but she felt her head bend into nod and move of its own accord three times. She wanted to speak to the man, but her voice died in her mouth. The killer extended his hand and helped her up, gingerly.

It was almost unnerving, such a gentle gesture, coming from such a monster. Nancy trembled and swallowed the lump in her throat.

She felt the boards beneath her dried skin and practiced looking out of the corners of her eyes. Maybe she could plan without being detected by the Black Lake Killer if she played along for now. The glass was single pane. It would hurt like hell to have her skin cut, but once outside she could run for the road, hail a cab and get the hell out of this God's asshole of a fucking city. Then without meaning to, her eyes went to the fragile pane, and all at once, Nancy's neck and head became rigid, frozen. " I did warn you, Miss Drew," the serial killer said, clucking his tongue in mock disappointment and wagging a callused finger at her, shaking his head, as though he had expected more from the fiery redhead with an explosive temper. "Now look what you've gone and made me do…"

The window morphed into a wall right before her eyes. "What's happening?" she moaned, not liking the sudden onset of a headache she was getting. "Drugged?"

"Yes."

Nancy felt her head being turned to the door, and as she twisted to face the stairwell, it disappeared. The kitchen entrance became an iron grill, medieval and black. Nancy gulped and swallowed nervously. Did he really plan to use those on her? "Now pay attention, Drew, we have a game to play. The stakes are high, they always are, but with you, you're a special one, aren't you? So, I've had to up the stakes, I'm afraid."

The man shuffled the deck expertly, laying them all out on the table before the two of them. "This is my favorite part," Todd said and let out a little sigh, as if they were watching some sappy movie. Nancy felt her arms become free and she raised a trembling hand to her face. It was a mess; hot tears sprang from her eyes washing some of the drying blood back into her mouth. "Take a card." Without any conscious thought from Nancy her hand obeyed, turning over the Queen of Hearts. The killer opened his mouth but instead of the giggling coming from him it radiated from his walls. "The queen dies" he said coyly, "but don't worry, I'll bring you back for the next hand."

Nancy opened her mouth and this time the scream came out loud and strong. Her arms and legs became under control and she ran about the room searching for an exit. There was a trap door she hadn't seen before. The bolt slid back as if were only installed the day before and she ran downwards almost falling in her hurry. The basement was pitch black; she was as blind as if her eyes had been gouged. Her body washed cold. She brought her fingers to her eye sockets; they were still there. She turned back to the stairs and tried to run up, but her foot fell through each one like it was a mere projection.

So how had she walked down them? She leaned forwards to touch the stair and felt a fabric fall down her arm, soft and velvety. Cold metal touched her forehead, one grope told her it was a pointed hat, like a fairy tale crown. She grabbed it and a mirror appeared in front of her, glowing like a television screen. It was her, broken face and all, dressed like some picture book queen. She swallowed.

_"The queen must die,"_ isn't that what Baines said? Without sight of any knife in the mirror the image began to bleed from the neck. She raised her hand to feel the sticky warm fluid about her throat. She screamed; the image laughed. In a blink she was in back in her jeans and t-shirt once more, facing Baines. "Don't make me ask again. Do I need to say it a second time? I hate saying it a second time."

Nancy's mind was starting to fail, like an engine that turns over and over, never kicking into action. She'd been drugged somehow, probably while she was out unconscious. She couldn't formulate a thought. Every action could lead to more pain and there was no way out of this house. No way out. She brought her hand to her throat, no blood. She glanced at the floor, no trap door. Her eyes went to the walls, the windows and doors were back, the iron grille gone. She breathed. There was a chance. This bastard had limits. Maybe the window was always there, even if she made it look like brick. Outside was night now, her aunt would be frantic if she didn't call and check in soon, to let her know she'd made it to safety. They'd trace her phone signal. All she had to do was stall.

She turned to the man standing opposite from her, "Please let me go," she begged, and she hated how weak her voice sounded. Then a thought struck her. Todd Baines had said something about…loneliness. Did a monster like this, sentient though it was, even suffer from bouts of loneliness, was it possible the creature from hell actually _felt_? A wild, truly awful idea struck her, but it might be her only chance at survival.

"What if I…" here she bit her bottom lip and hesitated, lifting her chin to meet the man's gaze. "What if I came back tomorrow?"

Todd Baines, the Black Lake Killer of Maine, smiled at her much like an angel would. "How long do you think you've been here, Nancy?"

Dread crept over her like a spider leaving a careful trail of silk, leaving its web in her wake as she crawled down Nancy Drew's spine. She felt her back straighten and stiffen in her seat as she sat up straighter. "An hour?" she gulped, and the dread returned when the man's grin widened to that of almost Cheshire like proportions and he shook his head.

"Try a week, Drew. You disappeared. Another poor missing teenager, probably taken by a cruel, nasty man," he mocked, scrunching his face and crinkling his slender nose in disgust. "Your little boyfriend is dead, thanks to you. Murderer," here he grinned a truly devilish smirk this time, and Nancy shivered. He leaned forward in his chair and sauntered, almost leisurely towards the door. "You won't be going anywhere, Nancy. You're my little doll, and this is my dollhouse, if you will. You are mine to do with as I please. I think I like you, so I'll keep you. Just…close your eyes and pretend you're home," he said, and he threw back his head and laughed, his giggle almost sounding childlike.

What exactly was she dealing with her? Ineptitude for social graces? Mild mental cognitive impairment?Whatever was wrong with him, he'd been affected badly.

And she was well and truly trapped here. Her heart sank as she heard the locking of the deadbolt behind her, and Nancy knew she had nothing in her purse with which to pick the lock, no means of a way out of here. The young redhead heard his footsteps slowly disappear down the hallway, and she turned back to see that the door was closed. Making a beeline straight for the door, she tried to force it to open, her bare hands pushing against the rough surface of the door, which was cracked and weathered with age. It was all in vain. The door stood stubbornly in its place. There was not even a viable window in this room, save for the one over by the fireplace's hearth, and if she broke that, Todd would hear and then she would be dead.

A shudder ran through Nancy. Trapped. "I'm trapped," she whispered to no one in particular. She was well and truly confined within the walls of this very room. Suddenly, she felt claustrophobic. A metallic smell hung and lingered in the air, almost rendering it suffocating and it became difficult to breathe. It reminded her somewhat of the smell of dried blood, and for a moment, Nancy found herself wondering if she was the first person Todd Baines had brought to this place, where he lived, or if she was the first. The room was pitch dark, and she had no choice but to huddle back into the same corner, wrap her arms around her knees, and pray that someone—anyone—would find her before it was too late for her. She was going to die here if she could not think of a way to save herself.


	16. Actions Have Consequences

Author's Note: I apologize if it seems like the story is skipping around a lot, but at least for this chapter I think it's important I backtrack a bit, to clarify just exactly how Frank got separated from Nancy and what happened, etc. but it will jump back to present once that little bit is explained. I had to split Frank's segment into two parts, fair warning a little bit of Ned drama coming, but Part 2 of this chapter is Frank/Nancy, and then things will start to pick up from there. I need to do a Bess/George POV soon too, since they have a small part to play in helping tie all these loose ends together, so that will likely be coming next after Nancy/Frank, and then Eve and her date also have a bit more of a role to play as well. It's all coming together in my outlines and note taking even if it may not seem like that in the story.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Half Hour Earlier: Part One**

It all happened so fast. Shouting, Nancy was screaming, Jessica was unconscious, and now Frank was running for his life, Nancy in his arms. He hated himself for having to hit her, but it was easier to carry her like this when her damn stubborn pride wasn't getting in the way, and he could do what he needed to ensure their safety. Run, hide, repeat. This had gone on for the better part of at least fifteen minutes. Currently hiding behind an old wooden barrel in the barn's loft, Frank Hardy drew in a sharp breath and held it, amazed his face hadn't turned blue as he watched Todd Baines' hulking form carry something limp in his arms.

"We'll get out of this Nan. Promise. I...I'm going to save you," he whispered into the shell of her ear, knowing full well she couldn't hear him. He said it anyways.

One quick glance as they passed confirmed it was the man's sister, Jessica. There was a strange certain tenderness there by the way the creature held the woman who claimed to be his family, but Frank did not have time to dwell on it. He watched as the Black Lake Killer disappeared out a back door, likely headed towards the woods, Jessica's unconscious figure tossed over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Frank wondered of the perspective of the chaser, if they can fathom the fear of the chased. For in this need to escape his head and heart go to the place that is crushed and without light or match to bring a comforting spark. He felt the screaming of his lungs and the will of his muscles to go far beyond what exercise could ever demand. This was the body and brain in full survival mode, and it was nothing but pain. He had thought they were going to make it out alive for sure, though he would never—not even on his death bed—tell Joe what he'd had to do to get Nancy to cooperate. It was much easier to carry her in his arms like this, unconscious though she was, though the heavy pounding footfalls of Todd Baines thundering behind him reminded Frank of the danger they were all in if he couldn't find a way out.

_He's coming and I can't stop him, I can't_.

Todd Baines had hit Jessica unconscious, carting her off to only he knew where, and he was going to do the same, probably worse to him and Nancy if he couldn't get the two of them out of here.

Who knew where Cliff and Bess and George had gone, or if the cops had been called yet. He would have called himself were it not for two factors: a) no cell phone coverage, and b) talking makes noise, and making noise would give away his position for the killer to hear, announcing where he and Nancy were, and that he simply could not do. Todd Baines continued to hunt Frank down these damned hallways calling his name as if he were their old school friend - but in his hands is an axe and he meant to twist it in their guts when he gets close. Frank, Nancy in his arms all the while, had been running in a scattered way, run and hide, rinse repeat. Now, though, his energy was failing him, his heart beating like it meant to explode and his mind was but a scattered mess.

The exertion brings on more breathlessness, like the air around Frank and Nancy was devoid of oxygen. His ribs heaved up and down, but no benefit came. Just dizziness. Frank slumped to the damp earthen wood floor, using the trunk of an old oak tree as a support system to slide to the floor until he felt like his body had come back to normal, sickness passing and shifted Nancy's limp form in his arms. He could not help but notice how fragile she felt, how almost doll-like she looked, with her head tilted back, hair splayed out on either side of her face like a fan, and her face far too pale and white to be healthy. He didn't like the looks of her. Clearly the taxation was putting her body under immense amounts of stress, and if they didn't get help… "Jesus, Nan," he whispered, his voice breaking a little. "I…this is all my fault. If I wouldn't have brought you here…. Then we wouldn't, you wouldn't be hurt a—and everyone might still be safe…" he moaned, careful to keep his voice low. He could not finish that thought. Soon, they would have to move again, but for now, he thought they were safe to rest. He'd managed to give Todd the slip on the upper level of the barn and had ducked outside into the woods after fifteen minutes of hiding behind an old rum barrel, glancing around wildly for any sign of Cliff and Bess and George, where they had parked the rental car. Thinking they were safe, he grimaced as he dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his cell phone.

"Finally," he whispered, breathing an audible sigh of relief as he felt the tension in his shoulders leave him. "We're gonna get help, Nan, I promise. I got us into this mess, I think I can get us out, a—and then…Call Cliff, the others can call the cops and meet us somewhere."

A rattled receptionist answered after about ten rings. "Casston Police Department," she answered, her voice frayed and on edge completely. "Please state the nature of your emergency." Panicked.

"My—my name's Frank Hardy, and he's back," he panted, still heaving trying to catch his breath and failing miserably. "The—the Black Killer took another victim, I think. He's got his sister trapped somewhere. Woods out on the eastern side of the Black Lake. Hideout—has—hideout. You—you need to send a SWAT team or something, ma'am. I don't—damn it, I hear something. I gotta go. Get your men out here!" he swore, ignoring the reception's demands to provide him with as much detail as possible as he heard the sound of cracking footsteps, the crunch of a twig. Instinctively, he felt his fingers curl into a protective fist around Nancy's waist as he gingerly rose to his feet, glancing down at Nancy in his arms. _She needs feeding up_, he thought sadly. _Way too thin_.

Frank's face relaxed when he realized it wasn't Todd Baines come after him, and he felt his back muscles tense and go rigid as he looked at Ned. A hot fire-seed of anger swelled in the pit of his stomach as he looked at Nancy's ex-boyfriend and saw how Nickerson looked at her.

A muscle in Frank's jaw twitched as Ned's gaze flitted from Nancy in Frank's arms and then traveled upward to Frank a couple of times.

When he turned at last to face Frank, there was no trace of tears, not in his eyes or in track marks on his reddening face. His eyes were narrowed, rigid, cold, hard. In that moment Frank Hardy knew he was already far away. Once more he was the enemy here, but he would endure if it meant Nancy would be safe from the worst of his temper. These swings from most loved to most hated would be the end of her. Ned Nickerson's states had no grey-scale, only the polar extremes existed. Frank drew in a deep breath; the burning hard stare would last only as long as it took him to think of the most brutally cutting thing, he could tear him down with or worse…Nancy. Though he had broken up with her. And after that, Frank could kiss anything breakable goodbye. Which right now might just be his nose, it was so hard to tell and so pointless to run. There was a reason Ned was on his college football team. He was taller than Frank and outweighed him by at least a few pounds. Ned let out a sigh and glanced behind the trunk of a tree. "Is he gone?" he asked. Frank released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Ned was asking about Todd Baines, not about…about…_this_.

"For now," growled Frank, and even he winced at the hostility in his voice. "I—I think I lost him," he sighed, shifting against the trunk of tree, and if anything, his grip on Nancy's unconscious form tightened, and he didn't relinquish his hold on the young redhead, despite Ned holding out his arms to take her from him. "No way, Nickerson," Frank snarled.

"She's my girlfriend, Hardy," Ned growled darkly. "Give her to me."

"Not anymore she isn't," Frank pointed out, no warmth in his tone. "Nancy loved you, Ned, and you broke up with her right after she almost got killed!" he shouted and flinched as Nancy stirred and mumbled something incoherent. Cursing himself under his breath, he lowered his voice and forced himself to try to remain calm, though it was becoming harder and harder for him to do so. Ned had always had the one thing Frank had only ever wanted: Nancy. "You know what?" Frank growled, secretly relishing in the look of shock as Ned took a seat on the ground next to him, not caring that the dirt and grit of the woods dug into his jeans. "I think Nancy would love you even more if you were kinder. But you, Nickerson, you've always taken more than you gave her. I'm right, aren't I? Nancy did the best she could, and still you bit her and looked down at everything she was ever good at. There's a damn reason she doesn't invite you along on a new case, Ned," he whisper-hissed through clenched teeth. "Because of this!" he snarled, gesturing to her limp form in his arms. "She knows the risks. You don't. You're a liability if something happens to you, and you really think Nancy could live with herself if the worst happened to you because you tagged along on a case?" His voice cracked as he said the last part. "She… loved you. Once."

Ned's face flushed red in anger and he balled his hand into a fist. Not knowing what to do with it and fearing he might lash out at Frank in anger, or even worse, Nancy, he stuffed it into the pocket of his windbreaker. "Nancy's taken, Hardy," was the only retort he could think of. Frank rolled his eyes, fuming silently and seething in his anger. He glanced down at Nancy's still-sleeping form and brushed a lock of red hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ear.

"Yes, Ned, you've made that perfectly clear," he snapped, venom and sarcasm dripping from his words. He could practically hear the anger in his voice as he spoke. Unfortunately, Frank's words only further fueled the fire of Ned's wrath and it was like pouring oil on water.

Next came the wildfire.

"You. You've been…. stalking her, pining after Nan like a lovesick little dog ever since we started dating a few years ago," he growled as he glowered at Frank. He snorted at the incredulous lock of shock in the amateur detective's eyes. "Don't think I don't pay attention, Frank. I know more about this…. this situation between you and Nan than you think. You want her," he growled. "I can see it in your eyes, Hardy. I want the damn truth, Hardy. What happens between you and her? And why did you do it? And don't even think about lying to me, Hardy…"

Frank stared, hardly daring to believe what he was hearing. "Are you even _listening_ to yourself, Ned? Are you out of your mind? There's—there's nothing between Nan and I, I swear it," he swore as his own features hardened and settled into a very serious expression.

Ned continued to keep Frank under his piercing gaze, never letting on that he was going to let this little conversation go. "Somehow, I don't believe you."

Frank bit his tongue hard enough that he felt the coppery taste of blood settle on his tongue, repressing his urge to scream at Ned. He would have, but he would wake Nancy, and she needed the rest, even if it was rather…unorthodox, how she had come by a solid sleep, her first in what had to be days. She'd not slept well ever since her breakup with Ned. And the fact that he was now staring the root cause of her problems dead in the eyes was more than enough to fuel Frank's fire.

"You wanna do this _now_? I really don't think this is the best time, Ned, not with the killer still on the loose, don't you think?" growled Frank, glancing around wildly for any signs of Todd. Though the Black Lake Killer's huge, hulking form was unmistakable, they didn't exactly know what the man looked like, given he had hidden his features behind some kind of horrible hockey mask. And then there was the matter of despite the man having a football player's build, the man was silent.

_Silent_. They would have to be careful.

"Yeah, I do," snapped Ned, not giving a damn if a killer was on the loose or not. "I came here to get Nancy back, and I'll have a go at anyone who stands in my way of that. I was wrong to leave her. I know that."

"All right," Frank hissed. "I'll have a go at you then if no one else will. God knows Bess won't. George won't. Joe won't, but I will. You're a—a relationship vampire, Ned, draining the life force out of Nancy, and I'm _not_ going to sit by and let that happen. She deserves better than you," he growled. "You're the one that broke up with her, Nickerson. I know I'm gonna regret asking this question but…why?" he asked, feeling his voice go softer. "Why did you break up with Nancy, Ned?" Frank asked quietly. "Were things really that between you and her, Ned? Huh?"

Ned narrowed his eyes at him in both disbelief and anger. In truth, he did not believe a word Nancy's friend was telling him. He needed the entire truth. Nancy had told him earlier that was nothing on her side of their…friendship, but it was Frank that concerned the football player.

What was Frank's intentions towards _his_ girlfriend? He had to know. "I want the truth, Frank," Ned growled threateningly, leaning closer into Frank's face, the tip of his nose practically touching Frank's, never once breaking eye contact with the young man he'd once considered a friend. "Are your…intentions towards her noble or not? Or have you just been using Nan this time for your advantage?" he bellowed.

Frank rooted his jaw and clenched his teeth as he felt Nancy stir in his arms. She blearily opened her eyes and tried to focus her view a few feet in front of herself. "Wh—what?" she moaned, groggily sitting up.

"Just great, Ned," hissed Frank. "Now look! You woke her up!"

Nancy furrowed her brow into a frown, a hand on her cheek where Frank had hit her. She blinked owlishly at Frank and Ned, her brain struggling to catch up to what was going on. "Frank," she groaned wearily. "Y—you have one hell of a mean hook. Why'd you hit me?"

Frank winced as Ned's head whiplashed sharply to the left as the football player silently regarded the detective. "_What_?" he demanded, his voice clipped and hard. "He _hit_ you, Nan?" Ned demanded incredulously, glowering at Frank as though he could not quite believe his eyes. His dark eyes narrowed as he placed both hands on Nancy's shoulders to steady her as she gingerly stood to her feet, her equilibrium still off balance, thanks to her cast, as was proven when she tried to take a step forward and pitched forward, an arm shot out to grab onto something—anything she could to keep herself from falling, and that something just happened to be Frank's arm. A gesture, which, it might be noted, was not lost on Ned Nickerson. Frank, meanwhile, wasn't done with Ned.

"How _dare_ you claim that I have anything but honest intentions, Ned? Who the hell do you think you are? I thought you were my _friend_!"

"And what is that?" Ned was fully shouting now, the two men almost at odds again, and Nancy gingerly tugged on Frank's shirt sleeve.

Ned's breathing rate had increased, and he was enraged, his emotions ranging from fear to their current predicament to pure onslaught. He was fuming, and seemed to give no regard for Nancy, having eyes only for Frank. "You foul loathsome piece of shit, Hardy."

"Frank, Ned, don't do this," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. She turned to Ned and visibly flinched, seeing the unspoken pain and anger in his eyes. "N—Ned, can't we talk about this later?"

But Frank ignored her, stepping in front of Nancy and held one arm in front of her, as if he thought that could somehow prevent her from taking another step towards Nickerson, who would undoubtedly mistreat her, Frank knew, as soon as things went back to normal.

The jealousy, the envy, it stopped. Tonight. No matter what he had to do. If it meant enduring another beating from Ned, then so be it.

"I would have thought it was obvious, Ned!" snarled Frank, taking a step forwards towards Ned. Out of his peripherals, he could see Nancy struggling to take that same step forward, to try to stop him from whatever it was she thought he was about to do, but a quick glare back over his shoulder and a curt shake of his head no sent the message.

Though she did not like it, Nancy returned the nod and fell silent, though he hated to see the worry and anxiety written on her pretty face.

Frank shook his head in a sad fashion at the sight of Ned pining after the woman he had thrown away and cast her aside as if she were nothing more than a dirty sock. At that thought, he ground his teeth in anger. If Nancy were ever fortunate enough to be his girlfriend, he'd never let her go, doing whatever it took to keep her happy by his side.

"Have you not the faintest idea of what goes on in your girl's head?" Frank demanded, gesturing towards Nancy standing behind him with a jerk of his thumb as he glowered at the football player. "Clearly not!"

"What are you talking about?" Ned's voice dropped to an almost inaudible level, but anger and confusion plain as day lingered in his tone.

Frank glared at Ned in an equally angered fashion. "It isn't my place to say," he growled. "The answer to your question is right here!" he shouted, stepping aside and pointing a slightly shaking finger towards Nancy, whose already pale face had whitened even more, giving her the pallid, ashen look of a corpse, or at the very least, someone on her death bed. Not on my watch, thought Frank angrily, but he bit back his retort.

It occurred to Frank just how much rudeness one must be forced to endure when the other man was taller than you by a couple of inches, outweighed you, and had the ability to break every single bone in your body in a mere matter of seconds. It's why he was so good at football.

Frank let out a sigh of defeat and felt his shoulders slump. He ran a hand through his dark hair in anguish and shivered. Night had completely fallen now, and Todd Baines was nowhere to be found, and now, they were very nearly lost in the godforsaken damned woods.

The brush was thick, and the darkness made it impossible to navigate back towards the main roads. "I um…can sense you need a minute." _Or five_, his conscience thought darkly. "I'm going to go look around," growled Frank, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Nancy and Ned watched Frank leave until he disappeared around the bend, his footfalls silent save for the crunching of the twigs and leaves beneath his sneakers. A chill ran through Nancy's blood as she heard Nancy's yell of anguish and frustration as he kicked a tree stump.

Frank, she knew, could not help her with this. Not this time.

It would be up to her, and just that thought alone was enough to make her shudder as a freezing cold wind of winter would wake someone. Her blood ran cold and a bead of sweat dripped down her face.

She stood there, shivering in the chilly night air, not sure what to do and too scared to even think of another apology to come to her mind.

Nancy was, perhaps for the first time in her life, at a loss for words.

One leg was folded across the other as he leaned against the tree trunk for support, and that one stubborn lock of coarse dark hair had fallen into his left eye, that tended to act like a shield, a curtain between himself and whatever he did not wish to see, and Nancy could just tell by the curt, sharp flick of his wrist as he irritably brushed it out of his eye, that he was royally ticked at her, but why, Nancy did not know his reasons, and whenever he stood up straight like he was doing now at his full height of six foot three, he tended to tower over the women, and especially Nancy. He looked, perhaps for the first time since she had ever known him, truly frightening, and when he lifted his chin to meet Nancy's gaze, there was an icy coldness there that did not belong to Ned's eyes, an unfamiliar hardness. Nancy swallowed back the lump forming in her throat. She'd never seen him look like this. He was…yes, there was no doubt about it, he was angry.

She had seen him annoyed, upset, yes, but never angry. And she knew just by looking at him, that she was the cause of it. His head snapped up so fast that Nancy had to move her head back to avoid connecting with it. He almost gave himself whiplash, he moved so quickly. "How can you be so calm about this! Someone attacked you in the middle of the night," he snarled. Ned did not shout, but he seemed so shocked, and there was pain and anger all laced throughout his voice, and it was in his eyes. He was confused by her response. "You could have been killed this evening, and yet you are more concerned with my well-being. Why?" he yelled.

Nancy stared after the brush for a moment, thinking she had heard a noise. She hoped it was just Frank. before returning her attention back to Ned. He was definitely growing angry. Nope. There it was.

That strange fire-seed of anger that came out. _Because you're my friend, even though I shouldn't ever want to talk to you again, Ned. And I never want to hurt you_, her mind answered, but she dared not voice this thought. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she closed her eyes and tried again. "Because you are my _friend_, Ned," she insisted again, trying to make him see her side of the situation. She just had to make him see this!

"But…" His voice was pained and staggered as he looked upon her.

"Because," she continued, raising her voice an octave higher so he could hear her. She could tell he was growing incredibly upset and angry. The laughter and kindness had evaporated from his eyes. His customary warmth gone faster than summer rain in the heat of August. Indeed, even his focus was somewhere at a spot on the tree behind her, as if Nancy had become invisible to him or he could not bear to see her at all. She had crossed some invisible line, offended his sensibilities by not coming to him when Frank had offered to take her to Casston for a quiet getaway. Nancy had seen him do this to mostly his mom whenever the older woman was greatly annoying him, but she'd thought their growing bond immune to this behavior. Now, her blood drained and heart hammered erratically inside her chest, pounding. She was never afraid of his anger when it came as fire, for that burnt hot and fast, but she was deathly afraid of his ice, for it coated him like a protective sort of permafrost. This sort of behavior, a shield if you will, had saved him from the torments of his youth, of growing up under such strict parents, but now that same method could isolate him from his family, from his friend.

And even…from her. It was pointless to try to reach him now, her well-meant words would bounce off him as good as hard rain.

But she would still have to see him, thaw his anger, so it was up to her to return the loving spark to his eyes.

Still, she tried again, and she would continue to try to reach Ned.

"I meant what I said to you earlier. There is no one I trust more than you. And I have never had a friend like you before, my friend. I mean it."

"I do not deserve your friendship," he stated coldly, turning his head away from her. "Nor do I deserve your trust. I have done nothing but cause you hardship and strife. I followed you here, without you knowing about it." His gaze drifted towards her now-bleeding hand. "Someone did this to you. I don't know who it is that could have done this to you, Nancy, but…your life would be much better off…w…" _Without me_, his mind finished, but he could not speak the words. "I think you should leave," he answered coldly, when he'd finally found his voice again. As he turned back to face Nancy, the look on her face was too much. She looked as though he slapped her. "Being around me is too dangerous, and I will not—I cannot—have your life in danger, Nancy."

Anger rose within her, but she stomped it down, refusing to let him see it. Why did he place the blame on himself? Why did he feel like he was the one responsible? What had happened, it was her fault. She had insisted to stay and had made matters worse by refusing to tell him the truth about her feelings for him, what she truly thought of Ned Nickerson. Unable to stop herself, she felt herself stomp her foot, a moment of frustration, and turned to firmly grip both of his shoulders and forced him to meet her gaze. "Don't you dare!" she snarled angrily. "Don't you think for one _second_, one _minute_, that this was your fault! The blame is with _me_! I should have come to you with this, I should have…told you sooner."

Ned's eyes widened at her seriousness and agitation. He had rarely seen her like this.

"Nancy," he murmured softly, surprised at her insistence.

"_No_, Ned!" she interrupted, violently shaking her head and staring at the floor beneath her bare feet, which were freezing and she desperately wished she had a pair of slippers, but quickly shoved that thought aside, as it was not important in the moment, but Ned was. "_I _am the one who has not been entirely truthful with you, about who I really am, where I've come from, and…you're right in that someone _did_ do this to me," she began cautiously, glancing down at her bandaged hand and flinching.

She had to tell him the truth. But that small twinge of caution that she harbored still towards Todd Baines told her not to.

And for that, Ned had every right to be incredibly angry with her. She deserved whatever he was about to say to her. "Nancy." His tenor-like voice was gentle, yet there was a firmness there that told her to look up. But she couldn't. After all she had done to him, she didn't deserve to look upon him ever again. How could she after it?

"Nancy, I…" His voice trailed off as he lifted his hand to touch her shoulder, but Nancy quickly stepped away, refusing to meet his gaze.

"So…you don't want me around anymore," she began slowly, her voice present again, but the woman refused to look at him. "Because I had no right to get so close to you. I overstepped the boundaries. Because you do not think yourself worthy of my affections, given how you look. But don't you know there's more to love than just physical attraction?"

Ned's eyes widened as he heard the resignation in her voice. She started nodding her head, almost erratically so, and he recognized, perhaps a second too late, just what it was that he had done. He had ostracized this young girl and made Nancy Drew question her feelings for him. What had he done to her? He had ruined her, and any prospects she might have had for a good life here. What had happened to her tonight, someone had very nearly killed her with an axe. Because of _him_. If he hadn't broken up with her, Frank wouldn't have seen fit to take her here, and they would all be back home in River Heights.

He was dangerous to her. "No," he said without thinking. "No, Nancy, that is simply the reality that you and I live in, but it's—" But he did not get a chance to finish speaking.

"No. I understand," Nancy retorted, lifting her eyes at last and giving him a look of someone who had just woken up, realizing they had been in a dream. "I understand completely what it is that you wish of me. I'll go now."

"Nancy, no, that's not what I—"

But she was walking away from him. "If this is what you wish, then who am I to argue?" she continued flatly, still averting her gaze. "This is, after all, _your_ life, not mine. My apologies." She coughed once to quell her tears and turned away. Before she could take so much as a few steps, however, Ned grabbed her by the shoulders roughly, not wishing to have to resort to such drastic lengths, but she was giving him very little choice in this regard.

As he turned her towards him, he noticed the sheen of glistening tears welling in her blue eyes. "Nancy, you are misunderstanding me. I care for you, more than you can…possibly imagine," he said, his voice soft, desperate. Desperation. _Truly_? He had never heard anything like that come out of his mouth before.

"But as you have just said, this cannot continue," said Nancy, looking up at him with her brows furrowed. She was much calmer now, which was strange. "It is unacceptable. I—_I _am no longer acceptable to you, with you. I can see that now. I overstepped a line when I dared to get close to you. You are afraid to love back, truly, because you're afraid your heart will be broken in the process, but guess what, Ned? That is love, sometimes it hurts, just look at Dad, and sometimes it's painful and…and…"

"NO, Nancy!" he roared, finally losing the last vestiges of his patience. Ned, despite knowing that he really ought not to, took hold of her cheek, tilting it upward and forced her to look at him. Her skin was soft, just as he knew it to be, and this only made his heart ache and things much worse for it. "You are better, have you not been listening to a single word I've said?" he demanded incredulously anyways, but knowing it was unlikely that she would ever understand him. How could she? She would never understand him, not truly. They came from two completely different worlds. "You can do better than me, and you should," he snapped, feeling the fire-seeds of jealousy well deep within the pits of his stomach at the thought of envisioning this creature before him with another man.

"I have," she snapped, her blue eyes flashing angrily. "Let go of me!"

He ignored this last request. "You deserve better, which is will I will—"

"No, you won't!" Nancy shouted. "You don't want me here anymore!" Words flew from her mouth that she never thought she'd even think, let alone say out loud, and it was on the person she perhaps cared for the most. She knew instantly from the look in his eyes that they'd hit their mark. In that instant, their friendship shattered into glassy shards.

Nothing would ever be the same again, and they both knew this. They were both panting, Ned still cupping her cheek. Nancy's voice was cold, hollow, and he wondered why she was as upset as she was. He figured maybe it was because she had grown used to her life always traveling, surrounded by new people, that she did not have a place she could truly call her own home, though he had foolishly hoped it would be with him, one day, when they were old enough to…to marry, but….

Maybe she did not trust him, did not think that he would simply support her without wishing anything of her in return. Ned knew she had her morals, much stronger than his. But still, he needed her to understand why. But this was also perhaps the last time he could ever look upon her beautiful face ever again. Never again, at least, not in this manner. Ned could not stop himself from letting his thumb drift across her cheek, wishing he could make her tears disappear. "Your future is _not_ here. You as good as said it yourself, you've a whole life of adventures waiting for you out there," he said stiffly, and then, realizing he sounded too harsh, softened his tone, once they had recovered somewhat. "I will help you, Nancy. I—I don't know how that is, but I promise to repay you for all the good that you have done for me, to apologize for the hardships you have suffered while dating me. I care about your future, just as much as you do, and… if you stay here, with me, you will be labelled. I'm a monster, nothing more, nothing more. My father was right," he growled darkly. "I'll never be anything but, and I was foolish to think otherwise. "I cannot be your friend." _There's nothing for you here_, is what he wanted to say, but couldn't speak. The tears betrayed them both, falling from her blue eyes and landing on the back of his hand. What was the secret behind them? Ned shook his head as he thought on this. He voiced his own thoughts as they came to him. "Why would you even want to stay here?" he said, smiling at Nancy as she looked sharply away, biting her bottom lip hard enough to cause it to bleed if she weren't careful. "What possible reason could you have, when the whole world is waiting for you out there?" Here, he gestured to the balcony. "I know it is a dangerous one, one not particularly kind to women, I know that, but I believe there is something better waiting for you out there despite this." Ned had expected her to reply immediately, but he saw her wince, as if Nancy was only just coming to terms with something deep within herself.

She almost looked guilty, though God only knew why. When she finally rose to confront him, Ned saw a clarity in her haunting eyes, as well as confusion buried there. Her gaze trailed across his face, and he flinched as it finally rested on his eyes, just as he had looked at her many times over. It was as if she no longer cared that he knew that she was looking at him. He had thought of it. Of course, he joked to himself, knew she felt something, but… if it was to the degree he now saw clearly in her eyes, then something had only just now become apparent to her in that moment, like she had woken up from a long sleep or some horrible witch's curse at last. "When you found me earlier in the café with the others, I…" she began, but her voice quickly faded as Ned let go of her cheek, letting his hand fall to his side. "I didn't know. I hadn't thought that I could…that I could…" she was struggling badly.

It was Ned's turn to look incredulous now, as he stepped away. Nancy looked scared, scared of his reaction, but she took a step forward. "I do not want to deny how I feel anymore," she whispered. Her voice was resilient, but also on the brink. Ned could hardly believe that he had actually placed her there. Placed her there because of own monstrous stupidity. Why couldn't he have just left her be, left her alone, admired her from afar! He never should have asked her out for coffee back when they met, and none of this would be happening. Ned Nickerson shook his head, turning away from Nancy. His voice was hard as he looked down at his shoes, wishing he could turn back time. "You only feel this way because you are confused," he said coldly. He dared not look back, for if he had, he would have seen her white face. Nancy was far too pale, her knuckles white with suppressed rage, her shoulders shaking from the effort to restrain herself from lashing out.

"How dare you speak to me like that? Take that back, right now! So, I am confused but you are not?" Nancy retorted, frustration rising again. "I am not some stupid dumb bimbo with no understanding as to her own feelings! It's clear this had nothing to do with me or my future, Ned Nickerson," she snarled. "You simply don't wish to confront the fact that something is there, something is happening between us, something you cannot even begin to contemplate because of who you are, what I am. Because you were born into wealth and I wasn't? Are you really going to let your parents dictate every life choice for you? Are you blind?" When he did not answer, she scoffed and rolled her eyes. "No, not blind. Just stupid." This was what she thought of him, really thought of him. Ned closed his eyes, letting a ragged breath escape from his mouth, exposing his feelings to Nancy at long last. Ned heard her timid footsteps as she approached him from behind, and he could feel the heat radiating off her body, reaching out to him, trying again. Nancy was looking at him as though she had just had some sort of epiphany, for her blue eyes were growing wide and round with shock as she realized something.

"I see it now. You're ashamed," she said, her voice as hard now as his. "You are ashamed of me. That is what this is, though you don't wish to admit this." Ned felt his eyes fly open and he pulled himself towards her and cleared his throat before turning to look at Nancy again.

He took a moment to collect his thoughts before replying to her one-time true statement. It was true. Though she had one crucial part wrong. He was not ashamed of her, but of _himself_. He had foolishly allowed this to happen, to think that for an instant, that he might have…that he could have had a future with this young beautiful woman.

"You're wrong, Nancy," he said quietly, as he felt himself smile sadly, though he did not turn to look at her. "The creature you met during homecoming, the one who only saw an angelic girl in front of him, he might have thought that, once. But I'm not doing this to you because of what I think. I don't even blame you for thinking such thoughts of me."

"Why?" she asked, and the heartbreak in her voice was entirely too much.

"Nancy, if you stay here with me, then I…" Ned let his sentence drop, lifting his gloved hand again as he winced and flexed his fingers, touching her face again, despite the anger displayed here, and he was surprised in that she did not turn away from him like he expected her to do. He took a chance and stepped forward so he hoped she would understand, see what he was sure was displayed so clearly on his face now. "I know what will happen if you stay," Ned whispered as he grimaced, hating how desperate his voice sounded. "You and I both know you could never truly…I could never be with you as a…"

_Husband one day, maybe_, his conscience finished. By God, he couldn't say it. It did not need saying, yet Nancy's eyes lifted abruptly, brightly shining with shock. Clearly, she had not expected him to think that far.

But he had. Oh, gods, he had. A million times over, but it couldn't be. Taking hold of her face now with both hands, Ned took the last few moments he had in her company to try and memorize every little detail of her face, the slight of her mouth, that little wisp of red hair which never failed to fall on her forehead. If ever there was a time where he wanted to kiss her, this was it. He almost laughed, a bitter, cold laugh at himself. As if he had not wanted to this entire time, during their entire friendship and acquaintance. "I will not do that to you," Ned continued. "You deserve so much better." _Even if you hate me for it_, he thought, though he dared not speak of it. Nancy looked as if she wanted to protest, but then she closed her mouth, realizing, Ned hoped, just as he had to, that he was right in this regard, as much as he did not want to be. Ned had to fight very hard to relinquish his grip of her, to let go of this otherworldly creature, but he did. He let his hands slip from her cheeks, landing helplessly at his sides. There was a horrible smothering sense of inevitability in the air, the only conclusion possible, really, and Ned took a deep breath, readying himself to turn away. But then Nancy spoke, shattering the silence. "It is clear to me that you do not understand, and I don't know if you ever will, Ned." Her tone was clipped and hard, and her voice had seemed to come out of nowhere, and when Ned lifted his head to look up at her, he saw that her tears were now gone, and she looked almost like she had done when she'd entered his life.

"Tell me what it is I don't understand then," he snapped flatly.

"You do not understand at all. It's clear. My feelings on the matter hold no bearing to you. You have made up your mind, Ned, and I cannot deter you from your decision. Not only do you not understand me, but you don't understand yourself." Her words were strange, they sounded foreign to him, and she was talking now from some other place, some place where he could not find her. "You are wrong, Ned, when it comes to what you think is of value in this life. It is time that you started seeing yourself as someone with more to offer a girl than just your looks. I deserve to decide my own fate, as you have said throughout this conversation. You wish me to leave you alone, forever. You do not respect me, not truly. I see it now. You've made your choice, Ned. And I've made mine, at last. You do not respect me; you don't love me. But Frank does," she added, and she was aware her voice sounded incredibly mean, but she did not care. Ned had done this to her, and he deserved to know the truth. "I choose Frank, Ned. He doesn't get jealous, he understands me. Not like you did. Come to think of it, I don't know if you ever did."

He did not see Nancy leave. He turned away once she said her piece.

It was all he would have of her. Her words. Fitting, really. But just before Nancy Drew left him for good this time, Ned heard her speak to him again. It was her final closing statement, which left him unable to find any sort of closure, only leaving him with further torment and anguish in his weak heart. "You are the kindest man I have met in all my life," she said, though there was no warmth left in her voice. "I do not wish to see you hurt like everyone else I have known. Would you allow me to, I can help protect you, be a friend to you, and maybe…"

Here Nancy hesitated and bit her lip, fighting back her urge to break down and blinking back briny tears. "Maybe I could have even loved you if you would have allowed it, but I can see now that you do not want that. You wish me to be gone from your life forever, so I will go. Don't try to help me and don't follow Frank or I, Ned. I've made my choice. You should just go home, Ned. Go home, before something happens to you. It's not safe for you to be here. Go home, go back to your parents. You owe me nothing." It had taken him a good minute or two to realize what she had said, for she had spoken so softly and without any kind of feeling in her voice at all.

As he blinked, her words finally registering, he bounded towards the place where Nancy had disappeared, following Frank, but he was too late. Nancy Drew was once again gone from his life. For good this time.

And it was all his fault.

As he watched after the spot where Nancy had stood only moments before, Ned was suddenly hit with a feeling of great unease for Nancy. Dread crept down his spine like a spider leaving a careful trail of silk. He felt her feet on his skin, descending until he was almost frozen to the spot, his stomach full of lead, his mind worryingly empty. Save for one thought. Ned could not shake the feeling that Nancy was in danger. But from what, he did not know, and the fear he felt for her was making him calm.

And that was what scared him the most.


	17. To Accept Your Fate

Author's Note: Hopefully this is the last chapter where I'll have to backtrack like this so I can get back to the present! Still a couple more chapters to go! I appreciate your patience as always and hope that you enjoy!

* * *

**Half Hour Earlier: Part Two**

The bare branches spiked into the sky - no sign of life to be found anywhere. It was so dark you were barely able to see where you were going. There were only small sounds of rustling bushes and the howl of the wind. You didn't know what laid in the dark forest, all you knew was that it wasn't going to be a peaceful journey.

Nancy did not know how long she and Frank had been walking, but the air was beginning to get cold. When she would exhale, a visible puff of air would form in front of her mouth and she shivered, clutching herself as it was becoming fairly cold, though thankfully, the brush was getting thinner.

At least, that's how it seemed to her at least. Maybe she was fooling herself.

Frank, to his credit, didn't say much. He'd taken one look at her red-rimmed eyes and dried tear tracts on her face and had mumbled something about walking on ahead to give her some much-needed space, time to think.

The despair and hopelessness she felt at her current predicament was like a heady blackness. The ways forward she had thought possible, ways to get out of here, had all but vanished into nothing. Not blocked, but like they were never there at all. The notion of hope to Nancy had become meaningless, as if her mind should linger on such ideas, then they started to feel like cruel tricks, as cruel as any desert mirage after one had walked for days without water. Her mind drifted yet again to her encounter with Ned, how heartbroken and distraught he had been, and this revelation had left her not exactly surprised, but with a feeling that she wasn't sure she wanted to feel.

For _one_, Frank Hardy, she knew, she had always secretly harbored a crush on, but had chosen Ned out of some…misplaced sense of security, she'd seen how losing her mother, Kate, had destroyed her father all those years ago, shattered his spirit, leaving him heartbroken and never quite whole again.

And _two_, she wasn't exactly in the best spot right now to suffer through yet another relationship, of which she was certain would only leave her heartbroken. Her mind was still reeling from her conversation with Ned._ But…would it really be the worst thing if he were to take you on a date?_

Nancy frowned as her conscience took over. She didn't usually let her emotions do this much thinking for her, preferring logic instead.

_When all this is over, it's the only way you'll know for sure, won't it?_

With each stride her mind became clearer, more resolute, as if the growing physical distance between them had now become an emotional chasm. As the nascent fading moonlight caressed her skin, promising a new dawn, a new beginning, she entombed her memories of Ned in thick walled ice.

He had made his choice. And she had made hers, in the end, that's what counted. Then, abruptly pausing to close her eyes and take in a deep breath of dewy air, she steeled herself to only think of her future from here on in. A future she would mold, build, direct. Then with each stride after that she felt more in charge, in command of her own mind, body and soul. She was a girl walking into her own destiny, a destiny that lay squarely in her own hands.

She furrowed her brow into a frown as her mind wandered to thoughts of Todd Baines, what he had done—or _would_ have done, rather—had Jessica not entered the premises when she had. Of that, she did not like to think.

"I just know I'm missing something, but what?" she grumbled darkly to herself, tapping her chin thoughtfully. Frank quirked a thick brow her way but said nothing. The young detective somehow found that the best way her mind put together the missing puzzle pieces was to talk aloud to herself.

Nancy shook her head violently as she wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she'd thought to bring a jacket, shivering and grateful again to be in the company of someone like Frank, someone who didn't get jealous, who understood the risks of their line of work completely. She pounded it down again, but her thoughts refused to dislodge themselves.

But these thoughts she was having…they'd drive her nuts.

Make her insane, turn into a monster, just like Todd…

"Todd Baines…" she whispered, letting his name roll off her tongue, continuing that habit of tapping her chin. "What happened to you?"

Frank, unable to quell his curiosity any longer, chimed in with his two cents. "Do you think there's a connection between all of this? Your fall, Dr. Halstead's convenient revelation that she's Todd Baines's biological sister?"

"Maybe." Nancy's frown deepened, creating lines on her forehead and a slight groove near her mouth. "I wonder if that trip to find Baycroft's journal was just some kind of…of ruse to get my attention, I can't figure out how Baycroft's journal would have anything to do with finding Todd. Unless…unless it was just a test," she mumbled darkly.

Now it was Frank's turn to frown. "A test? You really think Jessica would put you through all that? Wait a minute." Nancy heard the shift in his voice.

She flinched. Nancy Drew knew where Frank was headed with this.

"You don't think…. wait a minute. Do you think _Jessica_ pushed you down the stairs? _Why_?" he breathed, a note of horror creeping into his soft tone.

Nancy let out a huff of frustration and stomped her good foot, a release of her tension. It didn't necessarily change their bleak predicament, but it made her feel better. At least, it did in that given moment, anyways. "Maybe. And as for why, I don't know…maybe you were right, Frank. Maybe…mental illness runs in their family, but…I'd like to think Jessica wouldn't have done such a thing, but I can't rule it out just yet"

It was all she could say. But if Jessica _had_ been the one who pushed her, then why had she done it? And what had been the point of luring her out to North Carolina. Nancy felt her frown deepen as she lost herself in thought.

"Something isn't adding up," she growled darkly. "But I'm going to find out what it is. _We_ are," she quickly corrected, glancing at Frank. "Do you have cell service?" she asked, dipping into her bag to pull out her phone. "None on mine. Damn," she swore, glancing out at the path ahead. "I was hoping to call Bess and George, see where Cliff took them. If they're lucky, or smart, they went back to the camp. I take it you already called the cops?"

"Yup," Frank murmured, nodding. "We can call them. Let me do that."

To their relief, Bess and George answered Bess's phone on the third ring.

"Nancy!" squealed Bess's voice, sounding utterly relieved to hear her best friend's voice. "Thank God! Are you okay? Are you hurt? Where are you?"

George, on the other hand, merely sounded annoyed. "Bess! Calm down. I'm sure Nancy and Frank are fine, otherwise if they were, well, they wouldn't be calling us now, would they? Hey, what are you doing?"

"Nancy!" came Bess's frantic tone, and even Frank, who was holding the phone in his palm, on speaker mode, flinched and held the device away from his ear. "Where are you guys? What happened with Ned? Did he leave? Did he—?"

"Bess!" shouted George. "Stop that! Did you _have_ to yell in my ear?!"

Nancy coughed once to clear her throat and intervene before things between the pair of cousins escalated. "I'm glad we caught you guys," she added glancing at Frank. To her relief, she saw that Frank was smiling. "We're glad you two are okay. Are you guys back at the campsite?"

"Yup," came George's voice. "We drove Cliff back to the shop he owns so he could close up for the night, and we're back here with Helen."

Nancy breathed a sigh of relief, feeling the tension melt away from her shoulders. She was momentarily taken aback. She hadn't realized she'd been so tense. "Good. Stay there, wait for the cops to arrive. We'll be back soon, but if we're not…" Another glance towards Frank. "If we're not back in an hour, send the cops to the west side of the Black Lake. We sort of…got lost in the woods," she confessed sheepishly, reaching up a hand to scratch at an itch behind her ear. "B—but we're going to get out of this, guys. Swear it."

The cousins, despite their apprehension to stay put, agreed they would and promised to call them as soon as they found something. George planned to look around the campsite some more for any clue, anything they might have overlooked. Bess, on the other hand, was going to do what she did best.

"I'm going to talk to some of the guys," Bess had said. "See if they'll open up to me," she added smugly. "Most don't want to talk to cops, or you guys too for that matter, once word got out you two are detectives, but something tells me they'll talk to me," she chirped happily, and hung up.

The call ended, Frank let out a sarcastic little chuckle. "It worked, didn't it, Nance?"

Nancy nodded her head and took a moment to readjust her low ponytail.

"It did," she sighed. "I'm sorry about…about Ned, Frank. If I'd known…" Nancy let out a little sigh, and it did not escape her attentiveness that something in Frank's kind smile and light brown eyes had dimmed.

Frank said nothing as Nancy walked on ahead, still keeping her arms folded across her chest. The laughter had evaporated from his brown eyes. His customary warmth gone faster than summer rain on the tarmac. Indeed, even his focus was somewhere on the trees behind Nancy, as if she had become invisible to him, or he couldn't bear to see her at all.

Nancy knew then that by bringing up her ex-boyfriend, she had crossed some invisible line, offended his sensibilities. She had seen Frank do this to others before, but she had thought their growing bond immune. Now her blood drained and heart hammered erratically as she watched his face. Nancy was never afraid of his anger when it came as fire, for that burnt hot and fast, and was usually over in a few split seconds. But she was deathly afraid of his ice. It coated him like protective permafrost, it had saved him from the torments of the hard life as an amateur detective, the dangers they faced, but now that same method could isolate Frank from his friends. From her. Nancy let out a heavy sigh, reaching up a hand and tucked a stray wisp of red hair back in place and readjusted her ponytail. This had been a truly stupid, horrible, and all-around _very_ bad idea to bring up her feelings for him now.

It was pointless to try to reach Frank now. Her well-meant words would bounce off the man as good as hard rain. But she would have to see him again tonight, tomorrow, and the next day, so she had no choice but to thaw his anger, return that loving spark she loved to his eyes. Nancy was surprised at the bitterness in his voice when he spoke, his tone curt and it trembled slightly. "He always got the women. He got…_you_." The jealousy in his voice was unmistakable.

Nancy felt as though Frank had slapped her. Again.

The man was observing her with the gaze of a stranger, that aloof judgement with no strings attached. From up close, Nancy could tell he'd made some opinion of her just now. Her cold fury burnt with dangerous intensity. Frank knew as he met Nancy's eyes that he had made a grave mistake just now with his comment. He never worried about her frequent fireworks and showers of red-hot sparks; it was these bitterly cold, slow burning rages that threatened to engulf their friendship.

Frank let out a tired, defeated sigh and slumped his shoulders, turning away from her so he wouldn't have to see her hurting. Nancy felt the tension and heard the intensity in Frank's tone. There was a great deal of emotion behind those few words he just spoke to her now. She knew Frank needed validation of his emotions, not some solution or apology from her in the moment. Nancy took a deep, shuddering breath, steeling her nerves. All the reasons not to do what she was about to came flooding in, as if her body chemistry just sent them a blanket invitation. She felt the soft panic that would either grow or fade depending on her next move. It would fade if she backed away, but then she would have to do this all again tomorrow, and no time like the present. Frank looked like he was about to break down and leave her be, and that she could simply not allow.

Not after everything they'd been through together.

_You need to say it, and fast! Go on, hurry up, he's leaving!_ A muscle twitched involuntarily at the corner of her right eye; her mouth formed a rigid grimace. With her arms folded tightly across her chest, she tapped her foot furiously and all the while glowered at Frank, the man who had secretly held her heart for the last eight months of their growing friendship. She secretly rejoiced that Frank had brought her here, grisly murder mystery notwithstanding. "Wait!" she pleaded desperately, catching the edge of his arm and yanking him back with more force than she thought possible of her. "Don't leave. Stay," she begged. "I—I didn't mean to upset you, I just…everything is—"

His face was set, rigid, and tense. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

"Why? It's clear to me that you still have feelings for Ned," he spat bitterly, his best friend's name sounding like it were poison that had settled on his tongue. "I can see it. You do not need to justify yourself to me," Frank snarled bitterly. "I can see it plainly for myself. It's fine."

_Oh, you blind, arrogant fool, Frank Hardy_. Nancy fought back the urge to roll her eyes. "Oh, yes I do!" she shouted. "You are way off base, it's not even funny, my friend. So, let me explain to you a few things. Well, for starters, you're wrong, Frank Hardy!" she huffed in frustration, stomping her foot in agitation, her hands on her hips.

"Am I?" Frank challenged boldly, not seeming to want to hear her out. "I think I'm seeing this very clearly for the first time!"

"Yes, you are!" she retorted hotly, instinctively reaching for his hand as she sensed him wanting to pull away again. Here it goes.

"I'm bad at love. I know that. We all know that. But you can't blame me for trying, can you? I want what everybody else wants, even if I'm not so great at expressing myself, what I'm thinking, what I'm feeling! You'd know perfectly well who I've fallen for if you weren't so busy feeling sorry for yourself to notice, Frank, you—you moron," she snarled, closing the gap of space between them, her face inches from his, the tips of their noses practically touching. Frank was close enough for her to kiss him.

She was briefly tempted but fought it. There were other things on her mind right now, like making him see the light. He just had to see this!

Frank faltered and took a slight, fumbling step backward. Words left him. He stared into those piercing blue eyes of Nancy's, burning with anger, and his heart fell silent. Nancy' rage seemed to dissipate and deflate, and her shoulders slumped forward slightly in defeat as she nervously reached up and tucked a stray lock of her red hair back behind her ear. Frank wanted desperately to say something, but he couldn't force his lips to move.

As if stuck underwater, everything was slow and warbled as Nancy turned away sharply to avoid looking Frank in the eyes, so he wouldn't see the tears forming in her eyes, threatening to spill over if she couldn't get her emotions under control. She wouldn't cry in front of him. She refused. Poor Frank's mind was blank and his eyes wide as he stared at Nancy in horror and elation. She felt the same way that he did! She was in love with him, she had been for a while now, as he was with her. He searched his mind for something reasonable to say, but to his surprise, his heart answered for him instead. "I like you, Nan. I like you a lot. A—and I didn't mean to…chase you away, but... more…more than anything, I think there's one thing I'd regret more than anything else in the world, and that's not telling you the truth about how I feel for you. I like you, Nancy," he said. "I think I have for a while now, but...didn't want to admit it. What could you possibly see in someone like me?"

The moment he realized he misinterpreted her actions, her words, her expressions for so many months... as if Nancy been speaking a language Frank couldn't understand... that moment her words stopped was the moment her heart broke... yet it was a good breaking... the type that leads to healing and new ways onward; sometimes, the loss of words says more.

He knew she didn't love him back, but he couldn't resist. He leaned in a little closer, their foreheads touching. Dear god, he couldn't fight against the thoughts that were going through him. Her very smell was flooding his senses now and he didn't want to fight it anymore. Frank was tired of it.

"I'm going to stop you right there. You have plenty Why do you like me, Frank?" Nancy whispered, her hands tracing the scars on his hand, connecting them all with invisible lines like a dot-to-dot, all reminders of his previous narrow brushes with death while on a case. She gazed up at him with those hauntingly serene eyes, and suddenly, he was drowning in her eyes, losing himself in them forever. "I need to know, so tell me, please."

"How could I not?" came Frank's reply, cupping her cheek so her beautiful eyes met his own. He took the opportunity to study her eyes. The first couple days, he'd labeled them "blue." If he was feeling particularly poetic, he called them "cerulean." Neither word did them justice. They were so solid, so bright, the exact lustrous color of a polished shard of metal. If you looked closer, like he was just now, you'd see the swirls of glittering onyx black and tinges of blue at the edges. They weren't monochrome or boring.

That had simply been his terrible judgement. They were beautiful. He couldn't stop himself from commenting on them. "Your eyes…they're like smoke, Nance. Blue but… full of heat. I've never seen eyes like yours."

"Hate to break it to you, Shakespeare, but smoke isn't full of heat, it's an effect of heat," Nancy corrected, yet it was hard to take his tone seriously after what had just transpired between the two of them here and now. She frowned. "But don't try to change the subject!" she growled, her hands on her hips. "We were talking…"

"That works too." Frank's crooked smirk switched to a small smile as his grip on Nancy's waist tightened, coming up to grip almost painfully tight. "They always get darker and grayer when you're angry, like a storm cloud is coming," he teased, reaching up a hand and tucking a strand of her hair back into place, chuckling a little at her stunned reaction.

"Like you would notice."

"Like I wouldn't," Frank retorted. She frowned at his answer and looked away. Frank dropped his hand from her cheek and fiddled with a loose string on his sweater sleeve instead, not sure what to do with his hands, though the inner beast within was urging his hands to explore. He loved the fading sunset behind her eyes, the moonlight that danced through her hair, the sadness nestled in the creases of her milky white palms. Frank loved all of Nancy, not just the parts that made sense, not just the parts she'd shown him during their year of increasingly warm friendship. He loved the parts of her he did not yet understand, the parts that weighed on her shoulders, the parts only he noticed when he stole glances at Nancy during the silence.

"How could I not like you?" Frank placed his arms around her, and she leaned in closer to him. The softness and gentle touch of his arm against her neck made her back tingle through her dress. They did not speak, because in their own way, they were already communicating so much. There is so much in Frank's silence, so much he just won't say. Nancy could see by his expression there was a lot going on in his head, but if she asked, he just said he was thinking of how pretty she was. Got to give the man credit, he's smoother than silk. He flashed Nancy the smile that had her tied up tighter than money in a high security bank vault, but unlike a vault, isn't claustrophobic at all. Nancy knew that she was always safe with him, even if he did keep secrets. Loving him did not give Nancy the right to know every pain and doubt, to rummage through the wreckage of his head. Some scars are invisible, she knew he carried his share.

Nancy slipped her left hand into his and they wound through the woods, hoping to spot any sign of the road, their hands intertwined, connected. Nancy moved her head closer to Frank. He stood frozen, both from fear and exhilaration. She leaned in, so her forehead rested against Frank's. They closed their eyes, content to just bask in the newfound moment.

"Thank you, Frank," she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper. "For everything this past year and the last few days. It means so much to me."

"For what?" Frank replied, his voice low and husky, and heavy with desire for the young, intelligent, funny, beautiful detective with the vibrant red hair had stolen his heart before he'd even known it was gone. "I've done nothing, Nance. I'm just…me."

"For being you." Her voice wavered, exhilarated from the tension between them. She reached up and intertwined their fingers together. He startled a little at the sudden jolt of electricity that seemed to pass through his body, but he liked the warmth it gave off, that Nancy gave off. "You accepted me for who I am, not for who you wanted me to be. You never once pestered me to change my looks or—or told me I wasn't good enough. Or pretty enough for you. So, thank you, Frank. Truly." At her last comment, her voice cracked and broke.

It broke his heart, to see her this way. "I like you for who you are. I just…" Frank hesitated. "I love you for who you are. I just want you to be happy, and why you could want me?" he whispered into the shell of her ear, and was given virtually no time to react as Nancy had to reach up on her tiptoes to gently lean in and kiss his warm lips. They pulled apart, taking shaky, shallow breaths.

"How could I not, Frank?" echoed Nancy, a wry smile on her lips.

A beat. A pause. For a second, Nancy wondered if she made a mistake. Unable to contain himself anymore, Frank caught Nancy's head between his hands and pulled her close for a fiery passionate kiss. Her hands snaked their way up his body around it, feeling each crevasse, each line along his perfect physique underneath his black sweater. All of this was very real. The tiny moan he heard her give out was real, and this only made Frank want more of her. He kissed her and the world fell away. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be. His hand rested below her ear, his thumb caressing her cheek as their breaths mingled. She ran her fingers down his spine, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them and she could feel the beating of his heart against her chest. When she kissed him, Frank's brain lit on fire and the warmth spread throughout his entire body. After that, Frank was addicted. He couldn't bear not to be with her, and he could barely breathe when she was around. Those kisses were his salvation and his torment. He lived for them and he would die with the memory of them on his lips. Frank dedicated his life to being with her from the moment of that first kiss, for he knew that if he lost her, he would lose himself. She was the half that made him whole.

Their first kiss obliterated every thought. For the first time in forever Frank's mind was locked into the present. The worries of the day evaporated like a summer shower onto hot pavement. His usual mode of hurrying from one thing to the next was suspended, he had no wish for the kiss to end. Drunk on endorphins his only desire was to touch her, to move his hands under her smooth summer layers and feel her perfect softness.

In moments the soft caress has become firmer, he savored her lips and the quickening of her breath that matched his own.

A kiss like this was a beginning, a promise of much more to come.

* * *

Fear. It felt like at times it ruined Eve Vanderhilt's life, the parts of it she actually did want to remember. Her friends. The family she'd lost. The fear the reporter had ever since fleeing Maine the first time wasn't cute or romantic like in the movies.

Most of the time, like right now, she felt lost with not a single place feeling like home to her. She would quite often stare at the wall, wondering what all she had done with her life, where her friends had gone. The best she could describe it was like one of those old movie reels where the images rapidly flash you by in quick succession. Ghosts of the past would flicker through her mind, she could fully see their faces, but she couldn't quite remember the names.

Why couldn't she remember? Eve frowned, mulling it over as she walked along the town's side streets and winding sidewalks, Eli trailing close behind. It went on like this for days. Eve Vanderhilt felt lost. In a foggy world. Mystical and magical, but it was bad. She felt lost in a horrible place. A place of dreams and secrets and lies. A place where memories would haunt her and the people who used to love her would frighten the life out of her. Often, Eve would stare silently, everything else just gone. Vanished. Everything else would disappear. Her friends, her surroundings.

All of it. Casston was almost exactly as Eve remembered it the first time she had come here. Eight hours of sleep after a long drive, a shower, and she was beginning to feel a little human again. Eve dressed quickly, a pair of black pants, black slip on Sketcher sneakers in case she and Eli needed to make a quick run for it, a white collared button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and over top that, she wore a black vest. Business professional, like always. Furrowing her brow into a light frown, she grabbed her simple small square black canvas crossbody purse and slung it over her shoulder. More casual than the type of bag she usually carried, but, as was her custom whenever she traveled, she wanted to blend in, and not give off the vibe she came from money, like Lana did.

Her press badge lanyard slung over her shoulder, the town was a maze of narrow winding streets, as complex as the heart. The streets of Casston, Maine, were the veins, paved with dark red stones in parts of the square where all the mom and pop shops were located, and the people were the town's blood, Eve surmised. The sounds of the shopkeepers and people doing a little light Friday night shopping were the noises that let Eve Vanderhilt know the town was alive. Casston was what a village became with no city planning and a great enthusiasm for architecture.

Every building, every shop, was different, borrowing this and that from another era. It made the place kind of feel like one of those old grandmother's quilts, each patch unique and eye catching as the one before. Eve caught sight of her reflection in a nearby shop window and visibly flinched at how ashen and pale her face was this evening. She looked almost sick. In a vain effort to make herself feel better, she gave a small, shy smile to the beautiful brunette woman staring back at herself.

Makeup pristine and perfect, dark chocolate hair hung loose and lightly curled, and coordinated her outfit perfectly, and looking nice was her way of coping with stressful situations, and most of the time, it worked, so why did she feel so…so…_uneasy_? Letting out a tired sigh, Eve dipped into her purse to dig out her cell phone. No call or message from Megan yet.

"Where are you, kid?" she grumbled darkly through gritted teeth.

She decided she would give Megan another five minutes before calling and raising some semblance of holy hell. Maybe she'd just been held up.

_Yeah, that was it_. Her mind kept offering simple phrases to her all on the plane ride up here, trying its hardest to cheer her up, but she could not shake the feeling of unease from deep within the recesses of her heart, wondering what on earth could be wrong, and why she'd decided to come back here.

Frowning, she folded her arms across her foot and restlessly began to tap her foot as she stood outside a nearby pawn shop. She caught a glimpse of a beautiful bicycle in the window, and she inexplicably felt nostalgic. _That looks like…like…the bike I used to have as a kid_, Eve thought, horrified.

She knelt, raising a fingertip to the glass and touched it, squinting her eyes through the evening moonlight to see it better.

Before she could stop herself, her hand outstretched and she pushed open the shop door, the bell above gave a soft tinkle to signal her entrance.

"Get outta here!" came the shopkeeper's gravelly voice. "I'm workin' on closing up shop. Don't like kids and—oh," the shopkeeper, an old man judging by the looks of him rounded the corner and as soon as he heard Eve standing in the doorway, eyes wide and round like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, he relaxed.

"It's me, Mr. Weber," Eve called. "Eve. I was the reporter who spoke to Jessica a few months ago in the diner. You remember me, don't you?"

A quick glance at the cane in his hand told Eve she'd run into exactly the person she'd hoped to see. The old man lifted a slightly trembling hand and readjusted his ball cap atop his graying tuft of hair and straightened his thin wireless glasses he wore perched on the bridge of his nose. "Ayuh. You're no kid," he growled, scoffing a bit and turning away from Eve before glancing back.

"No, sir," admitted Eve, desperately fighting back a smile. "I'm not." The young redhead took advantage of the momentary slightly awkward silence to study the shopkeeper. He was an old man, but Eve could see the young boy in him still yearning to return to the days of his youth.

"Good," the blind old man grumbled darkly. "Don't like kids comin' into my place and wrecking everything they touch with their grubby, sticky little fingers," he growled, casting wary sideways glances at Eve, as though waging war within his mind, as if trying to decide if he could trust her.

He must have eventually decided that he could, for he made no more or gesture to have Eve removed from the shop, for which she was grateful. The shopkeeper had a wizened face and surprisingly inquisitive blue eyes. With each movement there was the creak of old bones.

Whoever he was, he had the resigned look of one who knows that at his age life has stopped giving and only takes away, and for a moment, Eve felt sorry for him. The dim light from the shop illuminated his tired, worn face, wrinkles boring deeply into his skin. His expression was of frustration and fatigue. The world seemed to hold no place for this man. He'd had enough.

This man had stories to tell, experience danced on his lips like a curious child. And yet, as Eve Vanderhilt watched him, he stayed silent.

His listless blue eyes just watching, not telling, the dim amber light adorning his skin. Finally, the old man broke the silence. "Can I help you, ma'am?" Eve took a second to recover and blinked owlishly at the man.

"Um, th—that bike in the corner," she stammered, her fingers curling into a fist over her purse. She swallowed nervously as the shopkeep let out a dark little chuckle, his eyes behind his glasses doing the all-too familiar quick up and down, assessing her form in her dress. She knew what he thought. "Where…" Her nerves were shaking so bad she could barely form a coherent thought. Angry with herself for becoming so flustered, Eve turned away sharply to get a grip on her emotions. "Where did you…"

"Where did I get it?" The old man finished dryly, going behind the front counter of his shop and picking up his soft drink, taking a sip through the straw, carefully regarding the young woman who'd entered his shop.

"Bought it from the Grunhild house 'bout a month or two ago."

_Megan's parents_, she thought. Eve halted in her tracks, having turned away from the old man as his uncomfortable talent of feeling like his stare was burning a hole in the back of her skull was rendering her uneasy, had moved to look at it. "The Grunhild house?" Her voice came out as a breathy squeak.

The shopkeeper nodded solemnly. "Ayuh," he said lowly. "Bike belonged to their oldest girl; I think. Kid ain't got no use for it now that she's a college girl. The couple had a younger boy, too. Nicky Grunhild. Damn tragic, what happened to that kid. Just…disappeared. Dead. Cops never found his body. Remember it tore up the sister though," he added thoughtfully. "Can't remember the kid's name. Molly or Mary or something. I'm pretty sure it started with an M," he grumbled.

"Megan?" asked Eve, biting her bottom lip as it stuck out in a slight pout. Before she could even fathom what she was doing, she reached out a shaking fingertip to trace the black edges of the bike's name.

"Hey, hey!" snapped the man's voice, his tone suddenly losing its courteousness, and the bark of his voice jolted Eve out of her thoughts.

"Wh—what?" she stammered, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks.

He glowered in her general direction, though she knew he could not see her. "Hands off the merchandise, little missy. Unless you intend to buy it. I may be blind, but my hearing makes up for it. Three hundred bucks. Oh yes," he added, seeing the immense look of disappointment on Eve's face. "This here is a genuine antique, a 1952-1962 jaguar Mark IV Schwinn beauty. Don't need no kids comin' in my shop here and tainting it. So, don't touch her, got it?"

Eve nodded mutely, casting one last look of longing towards the bike, and she felt a jolt travel down her spine and to the very tips of her toes as a memory came back to her. "Got it," she whispered softly. "Sorry, sir."

The shopkeeper heard her sad little smile and frowned at her.

"You okay?" he asked, sounding slightly bored and disinterested.

"Y—yes," Eve whispered, giving a curt nod of her head. She turned to the shopkeeper, who was a good head or two feet taller than her and had to practically crane her neck upwards to look at him, even when he was sitting down behind the counter of his place like this. "Who are you?"

The shopkeeper scoffed as he reached for his pop. He heard the fear in the pretty young brunette's voice as it rose an octave, nervous and timid.

Her hands were shaking. Well, one of them was shaking, the other was curled into a tight fist over the strap of her purse, her fingers twitching, Cliff could hear the girl's manicured nails digging into the straps, running down them. If he had to surmise a guess, he would hazard the young woman kept a can of mace spray in her bag in the event she ever felt threatened by a man.

Her eyes—wide, dull orbs of the ocean encased—the old man stared at nothing as he regarded the young woman for a moment. Something about this one was rather familiar to him, though he was having trouble placing her here. "What's your name again?" he asked, his voice coming out gruffer than perhaps he would have liked. Sensing this one required a softer approach, he felt something within him shift and give way. He tapped around his cane, mumbling under his breath, until he found the old spare chair he was looking for. He kicked it over, bidding her to sit. "I ain't gonna bite," he growled.

The young woman timidly sat, though it was not without trepidation.

"You want a soda or somethin'?" the shopkeeper asked, suddenly feeling guilty and noticing how pale the young woman looked. She was probably thirsty, and _definitely_ looked like she could use fattening up.

"You're way too skinny," he commented. "Better eat or you'll melt away," he added, turning his back to rummage through his mini fridge he kept for particularly hot days, especially in the hot, dry summer months.

Eve froze, almost toppling right out of her chair as she sat down.

"What did you just say?" she whispered; her voice barely audible.

"I said," he hollered out, his tone clipped and slightly annoyed now as he turned back around, a grape soda clutched in his hand as he slid it across the counter for her, "you better eat or you'll melt away, girlie."

Eve frowned, pursing her lips into a thin straight line as she accepted the soda and popped it open. "Thanks," she mumbled, taking a sip. Drinking a cold soda in the heady heat, even for September, felt like the greatest luxury on earth. The ice fell against the cup, her fingers sliding on the condensation before her fingers were able to regain their grip on it.

She felt the chill run down her esophagus and her head made an involuntary shake. A numbness crept into her brain the way it had when she was a kid drinking too much Slurpee too fast. When her cup was drained, she took the ice cubes between her molars and bit down hard, feeling it met into cold pools on her palate, mulling over the man's words. _Better eat, or you'll just melt away_. Too many questions and not enough answers were swirling around in her tired mind.

Letting out a tired sigh, Eve tossed her red hair over her shoulders and rested her chin in her hand, leaning forward in her chair.

The old man said something else, but she didn't catch it, her eyes had caught a flash of something huge out of the corner of her eye from the shop's front window. When she fixated her gaze on it, Eve drew in a sharp breath that pained her lungs and held it. "Oh. It's _you_!" she said. She wasn't sure if she wanted to scream or laugh, but when she opened her mouth again to try to call for help, to tell Cliff to call the cops, only a breathy little squeak came out. She wished Eli had thought to bring his gun. At first, the person's face was obscured by the late afternoon light, but then the man shuffled forwards and the feeble light of the fading sun was enough to illuminate the Black Lake Killer's hulking features. He wore some kind of horrible hockey mask over his face to conceal his features.

"Cliff?" Eve whispered hoarsely, and Eli turned his head to look to see what exactly she was looking at. She swallowed back the hard lump forming in her throat.

Suddenly, her throat felt dry and parched as she cringed in fear and looked at the towering figure of the man who had ruined so many lives, who was now standing outside the shop window.

The hair on the Black Lake Killer's head stuck out in thick clumps, a light brown color, wild and disheveled. The man's jeans were torn and dirty, his red and black plaid shirt splattered with a thick, red garish substance that looked to Eve horribly like blood. Eli slowly swiveled his head in the shop window to meet Eve's, who felt herself shirk away and shrink back in her chair as far as she could go.

The man said nothing, but he threw back his head and laughed, his laughter ringing in Eve's eardrums. A chill ran down Eve's spine as she heard the man's laughter. It made her shudder as a freezing cold wind would wake someone up from a heavy sleep. Her blood ran cold and a bead of sweat formed on her brow.

She sat there helpless, rooted to her chair, not knowing what to do.

And forget about thinking. She was way too frightened to do that.

"Hey!" came the shopkeeper's voice, jolting her out of her paranoia. Eve blinked, and to her surprise, the old man was leaning forward in her seat and snapping his calloused fingers in front of her face. "You okay?"

"Uh…" Eve turned towards the window and pointed. The shopkeeper frowned and followed her gaze, not seeing whatever it was that she saw.

"Ain't nothing outside 'cept the folks getting ready for the Halloween festival."

"Festival?" Her tone was surprised. She turned back to the old man, feeling her eyes grow wide and round. "There's a festival here? But why?"

She glanced back towards the window and felt her delicately arched eyebrows furrow into a frown. Moments before, where the man had been standing, Todd Baines was gone.

If he had even been there at all to begin with. A thought, it should be noted, that made Eve and Eli greatly uneasy.

The shopkeeper was looking at Eve Vanderhilt as though she had sprouted carrots out of her ears. "You been livin' under a rock, missy? Casston's Annual Canal Festival. Happens every September. Starts tonight, big party, always draws a huge crowd and lasts for two to three weekends."

There was a beat. A pause. And then— Casually, the shopkeeper broke the silence. "You should go. You and your…boyfriend," he added, adjusting the rim of his baseball cap and glanced out towards the front door of his shop. "I'm guessin' by that sound, it's him? Boy's been standing' behind you five minutes. Can tell by the footsteps. Too heavy to be a woman's."

"Huh?" Eve squeaked, turning to see where the old man was looking.

"Him." The sniff of disapproval in the man's voice was unmistakable.

"Oh. Y—yes, this is Officer, I—I mean, Eli," she quickly corrected herself, standing from her chair and dragging it back over to its proper place. "Thank you for—for the pop, and for telling me about who that bike belongs to."

The shopkeeper nodded, watching as the young woman shakily reached for her purse, instinctively running her fingers through her fiery red hair. Finally, he thought he recognized the flighty young lass at last.

"You're looking for Todd, ain't you?" he called out, and he knew, judging by the way the woman's posture suddenly straightened and stiffened that his words had hit their mark. "Did that girl detective send you up here?"

When the young woman had regained control of her voice after what felt like several excruciating minutes spent in silence, one of her hands hovering over the brass doorknob, the shopkeeper had to strain forward in his seat to hear her. "Yes, I am. And I'm here for…a friend," she whispered. "My—my name is Eve."

"Ayuh," he nodded. "Thought so. Recognized your voice," he commented, though he did not sound put off by it. "Not many of the girls in town are quiet and shy like you are," he said, as if it was an afterthought.

Eve felt a surge of panic well within her chest and she shook her head.

"Guess not," she admitted, feeling her voice still shaking slightly. "Th—thanks for everything, sir," she whispered in what she hoped was a grateful tone. Saying nothing further, before the shopkeeper could as much as utter another word to the young Vanderhilt girl, the girl fled, the only sound evident that she had been in his shop at all was the tinkling of the doorbell.

The old man frowned as he heard the young couple leave.

"You shouldn't have come back, Miss Vanderhilt," the shopkeeper advised. Though he knew Eve Vanderhilt could not hear her, he hoped she could. The old man could not quite explain it, but he had a strange sense of feeling that the young woman was in danger, and it was because of Casston. "This bloody town's cursed is what it is," the old man growled to no one in particular, and even if there had been another adult to listen to him, no one ever did.

The shopkeeper knew it was this wretched town. It was cursed. And no one listened or cared. There never was. That was just the way it was. That was Casston, Maine. A cursed town where no one listened.

And no one cared...

* * *

It had been fun at first, the chasing. But now, it was time to up the stakes. _Time to play a little game…_

Todd Baines watched the young woman from behind a dark oak tree, the branches swaying in the wind. He could briefly see the redhead walked with a limp, her foot in some kind of black strange looking boot, but he was much faster. His expression was of one being forced to endure an unpleasant odor. His gaze was unwavering and unabashed. His cold eyes did not travel up to the woman's pale face or down to her feet, but they followed her as if really focusing on something a couple of feet further away instead. Perhaps it was his introspective nature that had led him to be locked in thought as he observed his new target, it was hard for Todd Baines to know for sure. But he made no gesture of recognition, no raised hand or stiff grin. The girl quickened her pace through the woods and almost melted into the trees, and that's when Todd Baines decided to introduce himself to the girl and her companion.

"Hello," he growled, his voice gruffer than her would have liked. The young woman turned; her mouth slightly agape in shock. She reached for the guy, but before she could, he bolted. "Leaving so soon? Don't. Stay, you and I...we can talk..." Todd let out a low guttural growl as the much younger man with the tuft of dark hair bounded forward, fists flailing wildly at Todd's arms in an effort to keep him away from the redheaded detective who had been a thorn in his side for entirely too long. Annoyed, he backhanded the young man hard across the cheek.

The gesture was enough to send him flying.

"Frank!" hollered the girl, but he didn't answer. He'd been knocked unconscious. "Damn it," she swore underneath her breath, seeing no other choice but to run for it, though her gait was awkward and rather clunky with her ankle still in the cast.

She wished she'd thought to bring a baseball bat, a can of mace, anything.

Nancy's feet slipped outwards on the wet autumn leaves as she rounded the corner, the cold evening air shocking her throat and lungs as she inhaled deeper, faster. With each footfall, a jarring pain shot up ankle, to knee, ankle to knee, several more times.

Perhaps jumping that boulder onto the forest floor wasn't so smart.

Her heartbeat frantically, all or nothing. Fail, and her whole body would pay the price, run and the damage would be mostly limited to her shins and knees. Nancy ran for her life. She could hear Todd Baines panting with the effort from three hundred yards behind, that's how damn noisy the man was. Conditioning from her years of rigorous workouts George put her through was tough for even this guy to beat. Her breathing came in small spurts, hot and nervous. At her sides, pale fingers curled into sweaty fists, swinging forward as if it would make her run faster.

Behind her, Nancy could hear the almost silent susurrations of Todd's footsteps. The man was close now, and if she risked heading out into the road, Todd would undoubtedly latch onto her before she could so much as make her escape. The jeering laughter of the serial killer her eardrums.

Mud smeared her sweaty face as sweat dripped from her hair.

"Please, for the love of God, let me live!" Nancy cried aloud, throwing herself forward with even greater abandon. Her lungs and heart were pumping, but the air didn't seem to be enough as she sprinted forward, panic trembling in her exhausted limbs and mind. Nancy kept running, but she knew by the sound of another one of

Todd Baines's ear-piercing shouts that her time was now up. She'd been compromised and caught.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something sharp and huge coming towards her. She tried to jump out of the way, but it was much too late for that.

Nancy screamed, giving away her position to the others, but the pain was unbearable. She collapsed to the ground, clutching at her ribcage as something warm and sticky, garish in its crimson red leaked out.

_Blood_, she thought wildly. _My own. Frank is going to hate me for this. Maybe it would be better if they just killed me now. Just do it, let me lay here and bleed out. It'll be good for me. Anything but this_. As she laid there, she saw an image of her family. Of her father, mother, only this time, Frank was there too. Was this a vision of her future? Her vision clouded, coming to her in peaks and lulls slowly.

Nancy's eyesight blurred, but not because tears were welling up. Everything became fuzzy; then the young woman saw nothing at all. Her consciousness was floating through an empty space filled with a thick static. Throughout the inky space her heartbeats pounded loudly, echoing in her ears, alongside fading pleas for help amid the sound of low murmurings, and what sounded like someone whimpering.

Feeling in her body drained away until finally all was black.

The kidnapping was over in a second. One minute the girl had been there, staring at something, at what, even Todd Baines didn't know, nor did he give a damn. What mattered now was they had the girl, at long last.

No one saw a thing, no one heard her muffled scream or the hulking figure that hoisted two unconscious figures over both his shoulders with great ease, like they weighed next to nothing and weighed almost nothing more than a sack of potatoes for him. Which, for him, they did.

Her kidnappers knew her quite well, having studied her movements over the past four days. Todd Baines wasted no time in hoisting the unconscious young detective over his shoulder. He was momentarily surprised by how lightweight she was.

_She needs feeding up_, he thought darkly. He had her, at last.

"Time to play, sweet thing," Todd Baines murmured lowly, leaning down to whisper into the shell of the young woman's ear. She was still knocked out, but not for much longer. Once she awoke, the game could begin. Todd Baines glanced down at the unconscious woman, who he had now shifted to rest in his arms.

There was a tiny sliver of him that felt sorry for what he was, the way he behaved. He knew he shouldn't kill all these children, or especially the young women, but each one was always so deliciously sweet. Making their blood run until their flesh was ghostly and cold always filled him with such exquisite pleasure.

He selected his victims just like others picked out their favorite chocolate, with careful precision. "You're my new favorite, pet," he crooned, reaching down and licked her cheek. The further Todd Baines traveled into the forest, into the dark, the more the light burned him. The longer he lived without it bringing color to his world, the more he grew to love blackness. Perhaps there was a time once when he didn't have to necessarily become the beast, but he was assuredly one now, ever since the drowning that changed his life. From this dark pit, this terrible pit where not an ounce of light shined, he called for others like him to follow his lead into darkness.

Todd Baines had no wish to be lonely. He wanted to be the master of this dark place, the one who possessed all the power and control of his territory.

Casston, Maine, and the Black Lake. That was _his_ turf, no one else's.

But how could he have either if there was no one to be his partner in pain and cruelty? He pondered this thought and a truly wicked idea came to his mind just then, as he glanced down at her. This woman in his arms was meant to save herself. He could see that. Todd Baines could help her with that. He could end her suffering and put the knife in her hand and remove the conscience from her mind, that nagging, pulling feeling that dared to tell you when something was right or not.

Think of how strong she would be with no voice telling her not to kill, not to harm, and why should she listen? Todd Baines had seen this one fight.

She was quite skilled, this much the Black Lake Killer knew, to step in between two fighting men who outweighed her, at great personal risk to her own safety, and all for what? To stop the brats arguing over _her_.

This woman—whoever she was—could be a queen, mighty, crushing her enemies underneath her foot. There was no right or wrong, only what she could and could not do. The woman was born to be a beast like him. She would just need to come closer to Todd Baines to see such a truth for herself.

But before he could do that, he had one more person to go after…and then, she would see, and she would just have to get close enough to Todd for the truth.

To let him close the door behind them…


	18. Lending a Helping Hand

_I really am a stupid woman_, Bess thought angrily as she glanced around the little café in town. The café Bess had never set foot in until Greg took her, true to his word from the other day, and she soon decided that the café was now her refuge, the place she could make believe she was in a caring society. The tiny café huddled despondent among the huge city buildings. Washed out under the overcast sky, it hunched, fighting against the drizzle. Hundreds of people rushed by it, outside on the crowded street. The few customers that were in the joint barely looked up as they entered. Unlike the outside, the interior of the café was warm and cheery, with bright lights and colorful walls. The stragglers returned to their conversations as the door swung closed behind the new entrant and the cold breeze was forgotten.

Bess shifted her weight impatiently from one foot to the other as she impatiently dipped into her purse for her wallet, only for her hand to be slapped away by Greg, harder than he probably intended to, for it hurt, and she was surprised and hurt. Startled, frowning slightly, she glanced upwards toward Greg.

"What's that for?" But to her surprise, he was smiling, though it didn't quite match his eyes. There was something in them, something glistening…dark…evil…

And yet, she found herself inexplicably drawn to this man for reasons she could not explain, and she wasn't even sure that she wanted to. He wagged his finger at her in mock disappointment and clucked his tongue. "I don't think so, Marvin. Didn't I tell you that I was buying? Put it away." There was a slight growl to his tone, and she knew better than to argue. The laughter that had been up to this point in his eyes evaporated. His warmth gone faster than summer rain on the tarmac. Hell, even his focus was somewhere on the chalkboard above their heads, his brow furrowed in deep concentration, as though trying to decide what he wanted off the menu, as if Bess had become invisible to him or he couldn't bear to see her at all. She had crossed some invisible line, offended his sensibilities.

Now her blood drained and her heart hammered. When it came to men, she wasn't afraid anymore of their anger when it came as fire, for that burned strong and fast and faded out quickly. But she knew just by looking at Greg, she was deathly afraid of his ice. It coated him like protective permafrost. Bess knew it was pointless to try to reach him now. Her well-meant words would bounce off the young man as good as hard rain. But he had already asked to see her again even going as far as to _demand_, not _ask_, that if she went anywhere outside of the campgrounds, he went too. For her safety, he claimed. To protect her, he claimed.

And she agreed. So, for better or worse, Bess tried to thaw Greg's anger, return that kind spark to his eyes. But with one look, the verdict was told. Greg had been reflecting longer than usual, past the point at which Bess believed was about the time when she'd apologize. That's how it usually went on all her last first dates she'd gone on, at least. Bess's face fell as Greg locked his eyes on hers. She saw hateful disdain in them. But it was more than that. There was a tenseness that Greg wasn't even trying to mask. Bess backed away, nothing about this was making any sense, not his curling fists or the anger that seemed to radiate from his skin and boiling his bloodstream. It was still relatively early in the day yet, the machines yet to warm, and as the line inched forward, Bess, to distract herself, turned to the front and drank in the aroma of the place. The barista had tired eyes, yet there was that glimmer, a giveaway of her good heart.

The café employee was one of those surviving sparks, one of the ones who held onto what they really are. Bess shyly asked for her Danish to be warmed, apologizing amid her own tired smile as she gratefully accepted her Styrofoam cup of coffee with cardboard around the cup to protect her hands from the scalding heat. "Sorry, sorry, I—I'm just feeling like being a fuss pot today."

To Bess's great relief, the barista saw her spark glow a little brighter, her face more relaxed, a smidge more joy in her eyes. "That's okay. You go be a fuss pot."

Greg laughed unexpectedly at the barista's comment, and Bess felt the tenseness leave her shoulders as they slumped, and she allowed herself to relax that little bit.

"Thanks for indulging my fuss-pot-ism. I really needed that," she grinned, accepting her Danish, wincing as the heat burned the tips of her fingers as she ripped off a tiny chunk. "Try a taste?" she asked, biting her lip, turning to Greg.

He did so and pulled a face. "Ugh. _Awful_. How can you eat that? It's—it's…"

"Delicious?" she finished dryly, munching on a piece of Danish, ignoring the chill that traveled down her spine as another customer entered the café and a cold gust of wind traveled through the establishment from the chilly outside of the eve.

"Over there," he barked, his voice sounding slightly clipped, gesturing to a little round table in the corner, away from the bustle and noise of the café, the quiet place where they could sit and talk and actually hear each other for a change.

They sat in silence for a while, just content to bask in the quiet. Finally, Greg, unable to keep his curiosity at bay, asked her a question that nearly caused poor Bess to spit out her still-scalding hot chocolate and choke. "You hide, don't you?"

She coughed, almost choking on her bite of Danish, immediately reaching for a napkin to cover her mouth as she turned to take in the expression on her new friend's face. His gaze was steady, eyes wide and huge like that of an innocent kid.

Bess released a short, sharp breath. This wasn't even fourth date material and this new guy wanted to play see-through-skin. "How…how do you mean?"

Greg paused before answering, his tone dropping to a softer octave, getting that familiar glint in his eyes that she wasn't all together sure she liked.

"Everything you say is a mask. But each thing gives a clue to the real Bess Marvin, the one hiding behind that smile and those bright blue eyes of yours. You could just cut it out and let me in, you know, let me into that fragile, broken little head, Bess. Really."

This time, Bess stumbled to her feet, almost overturning her chair and toppling her purse to the ground in the process. Greg just watched, his gray eyes still like headlights on full beam, his expression serenely calm and somehow, knowing.

Like he knew more about her than she thought. And perhaps he did, in a way.

Greg did not yell or scream at her to sit down, just kicked upright the chair she had accidentally overturned, motioning with those haunting eyes of his for her to sit back down, that he wasn't quite finished with her just yet. Reluctantly, she did so.

Greg let out a light chuckle as he lifted the rim of his cup to his lips. In Bess's mind, it was more of a cold laugh, and it unnerve her. Just a little.

She shivered, both hands clutched around her steaming cup of coffee.

"Well, we can't go walking like we planned," he added, glancing outside at the fog that enveloped the lakeside in a thick white blanket, skirting around the tree trunks. "So, why don't you tell me something about yourself? I'd love to know you better."

"Like what?" Bess fired back immediately, feeling her defenses rise. This wasn't a date and she wasn't about to go revealing her deepest secrets to _him_.

"Tell me…" Greg paused to give himself time to think, tapping his chin for a moment. "Tell me one of your fears. You can't expect me to let you into my head without giving anything away, now can you? Plus, it'll make us feel connected."

"Huh?" Bess was utterly lost. She'd never once asked him what _his_ fears were.

He was growing excited now. Giddy, like a child almost, resisting the urge to bounce in his head. Bess wondered for a moment what she'd gotten into. "You might even like telling me something. Hang on, don't worry, let me guess. I'm getting a strong feeling right now…" Greg closed his eyes, deep in thought.

"Greg, don't, this is stupid!" Bess protested, vehemently, but he shook his head.

"No, no, no, don't tell me…it's…fear of untapped potential," he said at last.

Bess stared. "How did you guess?"

Greg grinned, his smile slightly wolfish and predatory. "Well, It certainly wasn't going to be something childish like clowns or snakes, was it? No. You're too good for any of that, Bess." Greg paused and frowned. "What? What's wrong?"

"N—nothing," stammered Bess, immediately looking away, out to her left at the fog. _Didn't the old man say when the fog rolls in, that's when Baines shows up?_

"What? You're uncomfortable? Well, we're not strangers anymore, so there's no need to be nervous around me, Miss Marvin," Greg said, lowering his voice a tad.

Bess turned back and stared. It was odd for her to make a connection this fast, to give her trust so easily to a man, tentative though it was. But there was something in the way that Greg smiled, a warmth, a genuineness, a softness of spirit that she just couldn't seem to get enough of or stay away from. He listened to her. Still, something about the man felt off, something Bess knew he wasn't telling her… She hoped George would be able to catch every word of this somehow. She'd let it slip to George she was allowing Greg to take her on a date to hopefully get more information out of the man, but so far, it wasn't going nearly as well as she had hoped. Greg was a clever man.

_Hopefully George will have better luck_, Bess thought darkly. _Nancy needs us…_

* * *

"Thank God," grumbled George under her breath as she watched Greg and Bess return from their coffee date, not having moved one inch from behind the old willow tree by the lakeside, pair of binoculars in hand. She winced at the stiffness in her joints. She'd been waiting for them to come back for what felt like the better part of an hour. Snooping was _totally_ Nancy's thing; George would be the first to admit it. As would Bess. It wasn't necessarily the cousin's area of expertise, but Nancy and Frank needed them now more than ever, so they would do this for the pair of them. "But you both owe us one," whisper-hissed George through gritted teeth as she knelt by the door, straining to hear. But Bess was behind closed doors with Greg, and as far as George Fayne was concerned, if it concerned the health and well-being of her cousin, then her listening in to what would otherwise be considered a 'private' conversation was warranted.

A common occurrence, those among the camp would say, but George in general preferred not to stick her nose in other people's business. That morning, however, as she was silently wandering the campgrounds, she found herself near Greg's cabin. She heard voices coming from inside, gradually rising in volume. One voice drew her attention because George immediately recognized it to belong to none other than Greg.

George told herself it was out of concern for her friend as she lingered by the front door and tried to find the source of the noise.

Bess was saying something to the head counselor, to which Greg responded curtly.

"This is a really bad time for Casston, there is no denying that. But we will not close. Not now, not when people need the reassurance the most. We won't close the camp. It's during times like these that we must be strong."

"Are you _stupid_? People are _dying_, Greg!" came Bess's voice, sounding muffled through the door. "You can't just…brush this under the rug like nothing happened! What happens to you and to Helen if the word gets out—and you trust me when I tell you the word will get out—that the camp remained open and the head counselors took no action and just…allowed all these kids to get murdered, huh? You both could go to jail as an accessory to murder! I know you don't want that, a—and what about Helen? She's your _friend_! Are you really that pathetic? Don't you have any pride left in you? You'd really not put her needs _first_? The camp needs to shut down! Just for a little while until the Black Lake guy is caught a—and then you can reopen! _Please_." Bess had been trying to convince Greg for the better part of the afternoon to see reason and close the camp and send all the other counselors home before anything else could happen. But the head counselor, as usual, was not listening to a head of reason, not even Bess.

Greg mumbled something inaudible and George furrowed her brow into a frown. Leaning slightly towards the windowsill, George gulped as she caught snippets of conversation. Things seemed to have calmed down considerably since she had gotten there, for she only heard mutterings. George let out a sigh of relief and stepped away. It was only Helen.

"I see why the townsfolk have been telling us that you know everything, Fayne. I wasn't sure whether to believe them or not. I can see now that they were right, and we let you stay here for free and are something of a friend to you, and this is how you choose to repay her act of kindness, by prying into Greg's private affairs? It's despicable. You're snooping."

George flinched, immediately realizing the voice came not from inside the room where Bess and Greg, but rather from directly behind her. Turning around at great speed, the young woman gasped as she came face to face with Helen, the other head counselor, a woman whom she felt the most unease with among all the others in the camp, aside from Greg himself. Which was saying something really. Helen was dressed in a simple knee-length brown summer dress, which George found odd. You had to be a certain type of person to pull off such a dull shade of brown. Unassuming, perhaps, useful, with an eloquence. A certain untrustworthy attitude, too.

In response to her rather guarded expression, Helen smirked, as if she had found some hidden amusement in George's presence. This only made George crinkle her brow even harder. Of course, Helen was no stranger to her. But even now, George had to admit that she did not know what the head counselor's feelings towards her were. Adjusting her posture and tucking back a wisp of her dark pixie cut back behind her ear, George did her best to seem as nonchalant as possible, for she did not wish to be the butt of some perverse joke.

Noting her change in stance, the young woman mirrored her slightly by staring at her in a serene manner. She was cautious, that was all. She had to be, given her situation. "You were snooping," said Helen, her voice sly and knowing as she took a few steps forward, her hands folded behind her back. "Yes?"

"I was not," retorted George immediately, contorting her face into that of outrage, until she realized, due to Helen's amused expression, that she was teasing her. She sagged her shoulders in disappointment, feeling defeated.

"I'm sorry. I tease you too much, George," replied Helen, although the woman did not seem sorry at all. "It's just that it's too easy."

"You should not toy with other people's emotions, Helen, it never ends well," said George coolly as she pursed her lips into a thin line.

"Yet you find it perfectly acceptable to eavesdrop on private squabbles where such…conversations are taking place," Helen said.

George hesitated before replying and her response became that of a more inquiring nature, as she tried to steer the conversation to her advantage. "How do you know which two people are talking in there?" she asked, pointing towards the closed door in front of her with her thumb.

"It's not hard to make out," Helen snorted quietly, as she stepped not towards George, but instead towards the window on the left side of the room in the cabin. As she leaned against the windowsill, George noted the somber quality to her voice, despite the fact she wore a benign smile.

"You heard from all the way outside?" inquired George, relaxing slightly as Helen stared up at the ceiling fan, at a spot on the blade.

"How could you not?" the woman chirped rather jovially, but still retaining that strange form of melancholy. "Greg has always had a powerful voice, especially when he yells. When he so wishes it, of course."

George continued to stare at Black Lake's head counselor in a guarded fashion, but she could not deny her curiosity had peaked. Becoming a little curious as to how she would reply, she asked whether she knew who the other person in Greg's room was. Helen smiled wryly as her posture turned languid, turning her attention back towards George, much to her discomfort. "I think we _both_ know the answer to that question, Fayne. I would not stand so close to the door, or else you'll hear something improper, for your ears," she said softly as she stood and came slowly towards George, who was staring at her.

"I don't appreciate your tone," she replied hoarsely as she took one cautious step away from Helen. "My cousin is not that sort of woman, and she is a respectable young woman, and should Greg dare to even so much as think about lay a hand on here, then she'll be—"

"Wow. I was not expecting this!" exclaimed Helen as she came even closer, maintaining her infuriating act of benign innocence, though her eyes implied something much more untoward. "You defend your cousin. Though your sudden passion in defending your…new friend, betrays that I am not too far off from the truth, would I be right in saying as much, George?"

"How dare you!" snapped George, feeling the color rise to her cheeks and flush hot, this time stepping backwards, looking at Helen directly in the eye. "Bess is the most intelligent person within my family, and she would never allow herself to be used in such a despicable way! You tease about things that should not be teased about! Take it back!" George took several deep breaths as she waited for her thoughts to catch up to her emotions.

She could not quite comprehend why she had let herself get so carried away on a matter that had so little to do with her personally. All she had been doing was coming by to see if Bess had been able to find out anything new since Nancy and Frank called. But somehow, this woman had struck a chord within her. Looking up cautiously, she could already feel another bout of anger rising within herself as she imagined wiping the amused expression, which she now undoubtedly supported, clean off her face. Her breath caught as her gaze connected with the woman's, and Helen was much closer than anticipated. "I…" stammered George, her voice faint as she felt for the door behind her with a loose hand. "I did not mean to offend Greg, I know he's your friend, I just…"

"No. I can tell you meant every word," Helen sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, as though she were getting a splitting headache.

George let out a haggard breath as Helen looked up towards her.

"Nevertheless, I shouldn't have yelled at you," said George in response, having finally found her voice again. "It is just…I am cautious, and I do not think that Bess would ever…if Greg should try to… to lay a hand on her or—or…. _worse_." Her voice trailed off.

She couldn't finish _that_ thought.

Helen lifted her head silently, a serious expression her face. "You must have heard quite a great deal about Greg from the others," said Helen, her voice soft but firm. "I must warn you, however, that it is ill-advisable to believe in gossip from the other counselors here. Greg is not quite what people paint him to be, and I can assure you that he would never harm Bess in that way. He is not that sort of man, despite what proof there is to make him seem it…"

Her voice trailed off and she fell silent and glanced upwards at the sound of barreling light footsteps coming from inside.

George faltered backward to avoid being hit in the face as the door flung open and Bess stormed out, a fuming expression on her features, rendering her cheeks flushed pink.

Greg trailing close behind her, looking utterly annoyed, wringing his hands together. He froze when he saw Helen and George there. "Ah…Helen," he stammered, his face blanching. "George," he said stiffly, and it did not escape George 's attention that he stiffened and straightened his posture, squaring his shoulders at seeing her again. "I—I did not expect to see you here."

But George had had it with this guy's false niceties. "Are you honestly and truly not going to shut this place down?" she snapped, feeling her temper swell.

Helen looked surprised. "Greg?" she asked, her voice faltering. "Is this true?"

"Why should we?" he retorted hotly. "The people need hope, to know that we're not going to kowtow to this creep's demands. It's what he wants. We can't give in. You agree with me about this, right?" he snapped, his arms folded across his chest.

"I agree with whatever Bess said," Helen said, furrowing her brow into a frown. "People are _dying_, Greg. We cannot ignore that, and we won't be able to hold off the swarm of media forever, you know. The cops have been called. It's over. We should close this place up tonight, send everyone home. I won't have more blood on our hands."

Greg scowled, his face flushing an angry red. "Can we talk?" he growled, his gaze flitting from George's angry expression to Helen's irate look as her eyes narrowed. "Now."

Helen let out a heavy sigh and nodded. "Fine," she growled. "George, we're going for a walk," she grumbled, grabbing her bag and hoisting it over her shoulder, double checking it before she zipped the thing up to ensure she had her cell phone. "Call me if something comes up. You've got my number," she hollered after George, leaving Nancy's friend no time to respond. George winced as the door to Greg's cabin slammed shut, rattling the door in its hinges.

"Jeeze," she snapped, huffing in frustration as she set off in search of Bess and Joe and the others. "As head counselor, you'd think the guy could afford some manners." Still, George could not help but to tune into her intuition, though that was usually Nancy's thing. "Something isn't right," she murmured, glancing back towards the closed door towards Greg's room of the cabin. _Now would be a good time to look around if he's not here_, her conscience thought. George drew in a sharp breath that pained her lungs as she crept forwards towards Greg's room, silently inching her way forward with her right hand outstretched, hoping for a closer look. Darkness fell over the two-room cabin like a velvet blanket and all that's left was the light from the moon streaming in through the glass windows.

It's the sort of movement that's seen on the peripherals of vision, the kind that breeds rumors of monsters lurking in the dark dragging the shadows with them like coattails.

George stopped in the shadows, her body shifting back to solid in a dizzying rush of suddenly fleshed out bones and skin, she pressed back against a wall deeper in the darkness, where it would have been absolute save for the moonlight streaming in through the window.

Steeling herself, she opened the door and stepped inside. Squinting, she waited until her eyes had adjusted to the darkness before taking a good look around. She _really_ shouldn't be here. "Nan, if we get out of this, you and I need to talk about what constitutes as a favor."

George crinkled her nose in disgust as the thick smell of dust and something else she couldn't quite identify filled her nostrils. Cramped, dim and cave-like, a cheap spindly pine framed bed was cut shorter to fit into the room with a narrow strip of carpet graying with decades of filth placed to its left. To the right of the bed was a meanly proportioned window layered in aging mold and dust, covered by twenty-something year old net curtains swaying mysteriously in the shadows. Draws were overflowing with moth-eaten clothes and bedding thriving with and grime. Dirt encrusted beige wallpaper was peeling off the wall near the dented floorboards. "He really sleeps _here_? In this hovel? Ugh, do they not _clean_ this place?"

"Guess not," spoke up a woman's voice from behind, eliciting a startled scream of distress from George as she whirled about to face the intruder. "Shush!" hushed Bess urgently, raising a finger to her lips. "You want to get us all caught, George? We can't help Nan and Frank if they kick us out of here," she whisper-hissed through gritted teeth, shoving George further inside Greg's room and slamming the door shut before anyone else could have heard.

"S—sorry," panted George, her breathing rate slowly returning to normal. The young athlete quickly focused her attention back to her task at hand. "We gotta look around quick."

"Why?" Bess asked. "Greg and Helen are out for a walk…sorting out their…differences, not unlike a few other people we know these days, but that's beside the point. Do you think she'll pick Frank over Ned?" Bess breathed, that familiar loving glint sparking in Bess Marvin's blue eyes whenever she stumbled across a juicy piece of gossip she was just dying to discuss, but then she realized whom she was talking about, and, under the withering gaze of George that would have had the power to wilt a rose, she shook her head to rid her mind of inappropriate thoughts of their best friend and her drama surrounding her relationship, or lack thereof these days, she let out a heavy sigh. "Not that it matters right now, but I hope she goes for Frank. N—not that Ned isn't handsome but…" Bess trailed off. "He's not right for Nan," she emphasized with a heavy sigh as she took a moment to readjust her blonde ponytail. "Something tells me by the way they were shouting down the path that they'll be gone for a while, so I don't think you have to hurry. What are we looking for?"

George furrowed her dark brows into a frown. "Anything out of the ordinary," she mumbled lowly under her breath as she began to look around. "Notice anything?" she asked.

"Other than an austere sense of decorum, no," growled Bess sarcastically, rummaging through the drawers of what looked like an old writing desk. "Anything out of the ordinary."

Bess and George ran through the list of items they could look for, and where they could look, checking off the places they had already searched: under the bed, the closet, George was in the midst of rummaging through the drawers of the man's desk. As Bess gazed around the man's bedroom, she realized that, thanks to their efforts, it now had the look of a burgled place. Then it occurred to the pair of women that you often find things as you tidied up, something Hannah Gruen had told Nancy growing up in the Drew household thousands of times, and it had since stuck with the pair of cousins since they were over there so often, and the two set about the task with a sort of meticulousness that was quite uncharacteristic of them. As George sifted through the piles of old envelopes, note cards, and letters in Greg's desk, the athlete's dark eyes were constantly on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary.

"What's that?" Bess asked in a low voice, pointing a pink-tipped manicured finger towards one of the drawers, emptied as a result of George's frantic searching. "Look…"

The pair of cousins leaned in closer for a better look. "What is _that_?" George breathed.

Drawing in a sharp breath that pained her lungs, she craned her neck forward.

The key to the desk was still in the lock. "That's odd," Bess commented, furrowing her brow into a frown. "If Greg didn't want anyone to snoop through his stuff, he should take the key out of the lock, don't you think? Something isn't right, George. I don't like this."

"The key's in the lock, but…" George's voice trailed off as her inner detective kicked in. Hanging around Nancy all these years had really paid off. "But what if it's the point? If he left the key in the most noticeable place he could think of…" she whispered, pulling the drawer open and having a closer look at the silver metallic ballpoint pen. "Bess?"

"Here!" whispered Bess urgently. "Th—there's a hole underneath the drawer," she gasped. "What if you just insert the point of the ballpoint pen, and…" She let out a tiny gasp as the bottom fell out. "A fake bottom! And…oh," she whispered as a pile of clippings and photographs fell out, old Polaroids by the look of them. "What are these, George?" Bess squeaked, her voice terrified as she knelt to the floor and picked up the newspaper clippings.

Bess frowned. "Why would Greg be keeping tabs on the Black Lake killer's victims? L—look at the dates. This was years ago. And…" Bess picked up a photograph, her thumb caressing one of the photographs. "Hey, wait a minute," she breathed, tapping George.

George, noticing where Bess's index finger was pointing, craned her neck forward to see. "Is that…it is," she breathed, feeling her dark eyes grow wide and round with shock.

The pair of cousins were looking at a dated photograph of the camp back when the place first opened and standing right next to a much-younger Greg was Todd Baines. "Why would he keep these clippings in his dresser? Unless...no. You don't think...Oh, my God…a—are you thinking…what I'm thinking?" Bess whispered.

George gave a curt nod, turning to meet her cousin's horrified gaze, and George was surprised to see Bess's normally kind blue eyes filling with tears. She was scared, but not for Greg, George knew. For Nancy and Frank. They were out alone in the woods.

"I am," she said, visibly flinching at how cold her tone sounded. "Greg must have been there, the—the night Todd drowned." Then an even worse thought struck her. Thumping her palm to her forehead and dragging it along her face in exasperation, she figured it out.

"Then that means…" Bess whispered, but George finished that awful thought for her.

"It was Greg," George whispered, horrified. "Greg drowned Todd Baines and tried to kill him. We've got to warn Nancy and other others."


	19. Hello Again, Old Friend

**Author's Note**: Things are definitely picking up with our unsub! I was planning for a long time how I wanted this scene to play out, and, though I don't condone certain actions, I'm glad of a certain character's fate, since I didn't like them all that much. Anyways, still planning out the last few chapters and setting up the next segue way for my next Nancy Drew story following this one, so it might be a bit before my next update, though hopefully this time you all won't have to wait over a month for me to post an update! Minor Violence/mild suggestive themes ahead. You can skip if it bothers you, but figured I should post a warning up top because our unsub is one creepy fellow with an even creepier M.O.

* * *

For a moment, Helen wondered exactly what it was that she had gotten herself into when she agreed to go with Greg. "_What a hovel." _They'd not stopped arguing since they left the campgrounds, and it had to be at least bordering midnight, the fog making it hard to see. From the earth that bore no life, save for the short, scrubby grass, yellowing under the constant glare of the hazy moonlight, rose something of a ghost town that, to Helen's mind, had no imaginable right to exist. The three-story homes and derelict little shops were clustered close together, arranged down a single narrow street, though the reason for such proximity wasn't clear, given the thin soil stretches in every direction until the land rose to low hillocks.

Between the buildings that looked like they were decaying, and were a decent health inspector from the city here, the town probably would have been condemned, or should have been long ago, Helen thought, the buildings themselves lost more paint than they kept. The wind channeled to a low howl, and Helen shivered, wishing she'd thought to grab a jacket.

To distract herself from the cold, Helen opted to mull over their surroundings in silence, trying to take in the place where Greg had grown up. Everything was the same and different. The autumn trees stood naked as they had before, but their twigs curled in a distorted way, as if the tree itself screamed in pain. The sky was a mass of grey cloud, again so ordinary for September here in Maine, but instead of letting small shafts of light through they emitted an ethereal glow. The wind was just as bitter as the day before, coming straight from the north, but the scent was something else, metallic almost, with a tinge of acrid burning.

She'd opted ever since this morning to change into a black wrap dress with a bit of a mini skirt that showed off her long lean legs and brown and pink strappy wedge sandals in the hopes of enticing Greg on a date with her. Though now she was beginning to regret her choices, seeing for herself firsthand what kind of a man Greg really was at his core.

Helen furrowed her brow in thought. The wind rustled her brunette bob haircut, sending her bangs flying forward into her eyes, and she furrowed her brow into a frown, swooping them off the right out of her way and tucking back a stray strand of brown hair behind her ear, where it rightfully belonged and huffed in annoyance, shifting her light pink Angelkiss crossbody purse to her other shoulder.

"Remind me, Greg, why we couldn't take our _car_?" she called out as loud as she could without disturbing the neighbors. Helen decided she didn't like the looks of this town at nighttime. Not one bit. Everything was quiet...too quiet. It was the kind of silence that fell right before you get knifed in the back. It sent a shiver down Helen's spine and she felt her blood chill in her veins.

"I don't want to draw attention to ourselves, Helen," came Greg's retort. His voice sounded clipped and hard as he ran a hand through his brown hair.

"But my feet hurt, Greg!" she whined, sticking out her bottom lip and folding her arms across her chest. "How much further are we walking?" she called out and was surprised to see Greg turn sharply to the left and his facial expression had gone rigid and hard, cold, not like him at all.

"Just be quiet and stop complaining," he snapped irritability.

Helen frowned at his response. Greg didn't care about the well-being of her shoes, or the fact that she was freezing, and despite the fact that he had told her at least three times since they'd begun the walk from the campground to...wherever Greg was taking her, that she needed to bring a jacket or she'd get cold, she was not about to admit to her crush that he had been right, really. The young brunette drew in a sharp, cold breath that pained her lungs. She felt as if her lungs were slowly filling with water, as if there were just less space in them for the air. Inflating them felt like pushing up against a lead weight on her chest. She sucked in the air as if it were treacle, yet she was standing, or rather walking, with her crush on a deserted neighborhood street that for all intents and purposes looked normal. If the creatures, frogs mostly, could croak, and the bugs could fly around and make noises, then why the hell couldn't Helen manage to catch her breath? _Why_?

Why was it so hard for her? She was out of breath when she was walking, talking or even thinking of doing either. With every step forward she took there was a wheeze like air escaping from a deflated balloon. Every step to her felt like walking in quicksand, her feet as heavy as bags of potatoes. She was beginning to wish she'd swapped her dress for jeans and her wedge sandals for sneakers. Every night Helen couldn't breathe right, her breath is so short, like her muscles were ready to give up the fight. The darkness would close in and all the young woman could do was hang on until the dawn. Maybe it's the coldness, maybe she was just plain scared of the dark like a great big baby. Helen didn't know. All she knew is that night robbed her ability to breathe just like it robbed away the daylight.

Greg must have noticed her struggling, for his brow furrowed as he frowned as he turned, shifting his stance slightly to look at her. "Helen?"

At least there was _some_ concern in his voice, so that was something.

"I'm good," she wheezed, doubling over and clutching her ribcage. "Just…gimme a minute, and I'll—I'll be fine," she managed to gasp out.

Greg looked doubtful, quirking a thick bushy brow her way. "You sure?"

"My—my feet are tired," she confessed, suddenly realizing she sounded like the spoiled brat she undoubtedly was, but she couldn't help it. "Will you carry me?" she questioned, biting her lip as the playful spark returned to her blue eyes, though there was no mistaking the note of hope in her voice.

To her request, Greg scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Just take your shoes off if your feet are bothering you. I think I was the one who told you to wear something appropriate for walking," he snorted, glancing at her outfit with equal parts admiration. He did appreciate how the dress hugged her petite form and emphasized her slender little legs and athletic legs. "But you didn't listen to me, Helen, so all of this is on you. You can walk on your own." The architect student chanced a glance down at her shoes. "Besides," he added, "you've worn those sandals before and walked and never complained, Helen."

"I always wear these in the warmer months because I don't ever walk this far," Helen whined, having regained her breath and stomped her foot, a release of frustration. And then she remembered Greg's suggestion.

The very fact—the _audacity_—that he would suggest she take her shoes off and get her bare feet dirty over this filthy sidewalk, where who knows what had crawled over it, was absolutely atrocious. "No way!" she squeaked, still keeping her arms folded tightly across her chest and vehemently shaking her head. "No way am I taking my shoes off and walking across that," she growled, gesturing towards the sidewalk with a jerk of her head. "What if I got athlete's foot or—or shin splints or posterior tibial tendonitis?"

At her comment, Greg erupted into laughter and Helen froze, wondering what exactly was so funny about her rant. "_What_? What's so _funny_, Greg?"

"I think it's cute when you go on a tirade, Helen."

Helen watched as his eyes became glassy with remembrance, almost hazy, as his memories were taking him to another time and place, maybe even a happier one. _Before me_, she thought, feeling all of a sudden dismayed.

Greg continued, sensing her discomfort. "You can talk for hours about all kinds of infectious diseases. It's why you're going to make such a good nurse when you finish school," Greg grinned, throwing that charming Greg grin her way that he knew she wouldn't be able to resist.

Fighting back her urge to return his smile, Helen let out a snort and turned away sharply so Greg wouldn't see the beginnings of a smile form on her face. "Just shut up and hold my hand, you fool," she teased, and had been about to open her mouth to lay into Greg even more, when she felt a strong hand, definitely a man's hand, grip onto her shoulder and pull at her, tugging her backwards from behind her spot on the sidewalk, which was uneven and cracked in parts, causing her to falter in her footing. "HEY!" she shouted, twisting slightly, and with a surprised and pained wince, turned to look her attacker in the eye, and tripped out of her pink wedge sandal. Helen probably would have fallen to the ground were it not for the man's strong gloved hand still gripping tightly onto her upper arms. "What do you think you're doing?" she shouted, pouting as she looked up at the man who had grabbed her. It was too dark to make out his features in this dark light, but as he moved underneath a streetlamp which flickered constantly, Helen felt a tremor of fear travel down her spine and a wash of cold come over her entire body, as though she'd been doused in ice water. "Oh." Her voice came out as a low breathy squeak. "Wh—what is this?"

In front of Helen was a deranged looking man with two-day stubble gracing his jawline and chin, though thanks to the dim lighting and there were hardly any streetlights of any kind, it made it difficult for the young woman to make out any details of the man's face, but she could tell by the hulking build of the man's football player size, he could be only one man.

"You," she breathed, her voice coming out as a low breathy squeak, his cheekbones sunken in and hollow, giving him an emaciated look. His tuft of light brown hair, like Greg's, was wild, and seemed to have a mind of its own, though his bangs hung limp and straight in his eyes. Whoever the stranger was, he was young, seemingly in his late thirties, early forties.

But it was his eyes that scared Helen the most.

Helen looked into his eyes, but it was like nothing was there to behold. An endless depth of ink, sorrow, and pain. She could not see whites of his eyes nor the vessels that flowed through them. They were depths of Tartarus holding a thousand souls yet there were none to be seen. She gulped and swallowed past the lump forming in her throat that threatened to close off her passageways. She knew she shouldn't be staring at him like this, but she felt safe to look when he half-turned away, seemingly fixated on Greg now. The lumberjack shirt he wore was loose and seemed to cling to his frame in parts and absolutely hang off him in others, which she found odd. Her eyes popped as he glanced back to Helen, and she shivered as an unnaturally wide grin began to form, curling the edges of his lips upwards.

White knuckles from clenching her fist too hard, and gritted teeth from effort to remain silent, her rigid posture and form exuded an animosity that was like acid - burning, slicing, potent. Her face was blanched white with suppressed rage, and when this man who had so rudely snatched her even set a finger on her shoulder, she swung around and mentally snapped, screaming at the man. "Who the hell do you think you are, Frankenstein?" bellowed Helen, balling her hands, which hung loosely at her sides and were shaking badly, into fists. "Keep your grubby hands to yourself, creep!" she hollered. "God! I'm calling the police!" she shouted, dipping with her free hand into her purse, rummaging for her cell phone, feeling her jaw go rooted. If ever there was a time when she wished she kept her phone out more often, this was one of those times. They needed help…

"Helen…" called out Greg, though it came out as more of a warning shout.

The towering man in the plaid shirt continued that creepy grin of his, seeming unfazed by the young brunette woman's little outburst. As if what he was doing were the most natural thing in the word, he swatted her arm away from her bag hard enough to bruise, and his hand came up to grip her delicate birdlike wrist in his grasp and squeezed. She let out a tiny cry of pain that was almost inaudible but fell silent. Maybe staying silent would be her best chance for walking away from this alive. If she didn't make any noise, then they both might live. IF she stayed quiet and just didn't cause a scene, did whatever the hell he wanted.

"What's a pretty little slip of a thing like you doing out in the cold dark night, huh?" he crooned throatily, reaching up a strong, hairy hand to allow his hand to drift over the column of her throat. "Mustn't wander too far…"

Helen decided right then and there that whoever this man was, she didn't like the way he talked. He was clearly mocking her, but the intonations of his voice suggested almost a childlike curiosity, the way he genuflected and seemed to talk animatedly with his hands, every once in a while, the young woman would notice the stranger shoot Greg an utter look of hate. Greg, meanwhile, had seemingly frozen in fear, his face ashen and beads of sweat forming on his brow, as his dark eyes darted nervously from the attacker towards Helen's.

"Just—don't hurt her, man," he pleaded, desperate.

But the attacker's gaze had wandered back towards Helen, who had fallen silent and was regarding the stranger in the blue and red plaid shirt with something akin to fear and trepidation in her blue eyes. "It's not safe for you to be out alone," he continued, continuing his infuriating behavior of caressing her cheek, and Helen trembled, hating to admit that, unwanted though it was, it strangely felt nice. The skin of his palm was smooth. The man glanced down at her purse slung over her shoulder. "Whatcha got in your bag, sweetheart?" he growled, and his hand drifted downward from the caressing of the column of her pale throat and towards her purse.

"No way, you asshole!" cried Helen, instinctively curling her fingers into a fist over the straps of her purse, her favorite out of the two that she did own. A light coral pink in color, with several zippered compartments and pockets for all her things, it was easily her favorite bag among the others she kept in her closet at home. She was reluctant to part with it, or even let this man get his grubby hands all over it. It had been a gift from her mother for her birthday this year, shortly before her mom had passed away from cancer, and she was going to be damned if she was going to let this—this asshole—get his grubby sticky sausage fingers all over it. "Get the hell away from me!"

"Helen!" shouted Greg, though he sounded more fearful than angry. "Don't do this, just—just give him the purse. I'll buy you another one, Helen. Swear!"

Burning rage hissed through Helen's body like deathly poison, screeching a demanded release in the form of unwanted violence. It was like a volcano erupting; fury sweeping off her like ferocious waves. The wrath consumed like, engulfing her moralities and destroying the boundaries of loyalty. "No _way_, Greg!" she shouted, turning her wrath onto Greg, completely ignoring the stranger, whose face had flushed and was looking annoyed at the interruption. If possible, her fingers turned white with the effort to hang onto her purse for that millisecond longer as she felt the man begin to tug on the straps. "You _know_ what this bag means to me, Greg, my mom gave it to me! No way in Hell am I ever giving it up, and not to _him_!"

"Helen!" cried Greg, sounding thoroughly fed up and exasperated, not to mention panicked at their situation. "Just give him the damn bag! Your wallet, money, whatever he asks for! Your purse isn't worth your life, Helen."

But it _was_. Though Greg could never understand it. Helen opened her mouth to retort hotly and could only manage a breathy little squeak as the man's grip tightened on her left wrist and she was violently dragged into an alleyway and shoved up against a cold red brick wall. She let out a pained gasp of surprise and whimpered, clenching her eyes shut, not wanting to see whatever came next.

"You're going to let go of the bag now," the man's voice growled, whispering it into the shell of her ear. The light in this place was entirely too dim, and she could barely see the attacker, though his black eyes almost seemed to glow yellow now, which frightened her. "Do I need to say it again? Don't make me say it a second time, Helen. I _hate_ saying it a second time."

His request came again this time, urgent, harder. "Let go of the bag."

Helen violently shook her head, and he let out a low warning growl, shoving her up against the wall even harder. The young woman winced as he did so, definitely feeling a muscle pull in her back as the man continued. The ache was dull, as if some lazy torturer was standing right behind her, only applying enough pressure to be an annoyance, though in Helen's case, her assailant was in front of her, not behind. The pain just sat there, just to the side of the right shoulder blade toward the spine. Helen could imagine it would be like this lying on a large glass marble; perhaps at first it would be pleasant yet soon it would be just like this pain of hers.

"Go to hell!" She didn't know where that had come from, but the words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself. If this man wanted a fight, then she sure as hell would give him one. She didn't intend to go quietly.

"Feisty little thing, aren't you?" he complimented, reaching up a hand to absentmindedly tuck a wisp of her brunette bob haircut back into place. Helen flinched at the intimacy and surprising gentleness of the gesture. She would have almost preferred it if the man would just hit her, do whatever it was that he seemed to want to do to her, and let them go.

"Helen!" came Greg's voice from behind, though he sounded distant, muffled, like he was almost a football field away. Helen could hear his footfalls approaching from behind, though she wasn't sure what Greg could do in order to help her out of the situation. All he had on him was a pocketknife. Helen was shoved up against a wall, and panic was threatening to consume her. She strained her vocals, but nothing came out, still she screamed, hoping someone—_anyone_—would hear her and come to help.

Suddenly, her body wracked with raw sobs and she shook like a leaf. Fright consumed every cell in her body, swelling them with terror. With every second she practically felt the rise of her blood pressure, but she knew that this was the least of her worries. "Please," she whimpered, lifting her gaze slightly to meet his eyes, what little of the man's expression she could see there. "I'll—I'll give you whatever you want. Money? You want my money? I—it's in my wallet, just take it and leave us alone," Helen sobbed.

She felt her ironclad grip on the strap of her purse slacken, and the man noticed it with some amusement in his cold, black, lifeless eyes and laughed. "Oh, sweetheart," he throatily crooned. "It never was about the money. I don't want your money," he laughed, as if she had just told him a joke. "It's _you_," he breathed, and then Helen knew she was in _serious_ trouble.

Though her brows furrowed in a slight frown as she realized his gaze was not looking at her, but directly at Greg. Still, she swallowed back the worst of her fear, her mouth no longer taking directions from her brain. "If you think I'm going to—" she started to retort violently but was cut off. A flash of silver danced across the front of her vision as the knife sat precariously on her skin, soft enough to not pierce her skin, but hard enough to enforce the stranger's intended message. The harsh metal should have been cold and raw against the exposed skin of the column of her throat, but Helen's numb body could not feel anything at all right now. Her throat held in a silver grasp, and all she could do was stare lifelessly at the dark black eyes held the blade and a terrifying coldness she'd never seen before.

Trembling, ignoring Greg's shouts and screams behind her, she tipped her chin up into the sharpened edge, tempting this creep to end her anguish, almost half hoping that he would just do it, and end all this. A small stream of blood trickled from the feeble cut Helen could not feel, he did not flinch or remove his eyes from hers, a cruel smile stretched out across gaunt features. Her frozen heart shifted at the sight of his merciless gaze, her legs almost failing beneath her. His steadfast grip on the polished weapon shifted, causing more crimson liquid to flow from the raw wound he had inflicted. "You're going to do what I say, and stay quiet," he hissed. Helen nodded mutely, biting her bottom lip so hard she tasted blood. Strong hands pushed her into the wall in front of her. It stung and sent swells of pain throughout her body.

"HELEN!" screamed Greg, and the sound of shuffling reached her eardrums, and the sound of a pained yelp told her everything she needed to know: that the man had sent him sprawling back. A chin rested on Helen's shoulder, and the man was breathing heavily into her ear. She opened her mouth to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing, and if he didn't want charges pressed against him when she called the cops, then he'd get the hell out of here right now, and that was when the stranger's lips clamped down on her ear, piercing right through her industrial piercing in her right ear, which she had gotten done only a month ago, and the holes were still tender, and what he was doing really hurt.

She let out a heart-wrenching scream and felt tears gather in the corner of her eyes. His lips were light at first, and then they bit down harder. Helen squirmed against the wall, but that only made the man's grip tighten. The teeth turned into a tongue, which felt way too much like a slimy eel trying to worm its way places where it did not belong, and Helen shivered. It slid over the rim of Helen's now-bleeding ear and caused her to cry out a bit. Two hands slid down her sides on landed on her waist, just above the knot of her skirt. She didn't know what to do. She hoped this was a cruel joke, a horrible nightmare. The lips moved down to her neck and nipped at the tender skin there.

Helen knew that this would be bad. Her skin bruised so easily; she knew it would leave a mark. It seemed like her captor did too and let out a growl. Helen opened her mouth to scream, but the noise was rendered to a breathless squeak as she felt something hard strike the back of her head, and a wetness gathered at the back of her skull, hot, wet, and sticky. She knew she would faint when her legs beneath her would give out. It felt like her innards were being replaced by some kind of black hole. Then nausea crept from her abdomen to her head and the world went black and she knew no more. She was still alive, as the stranger surmised, and felt for a pulse.

"YOU BASTARD! I'LL—I'LL KILL YOU! LET HER GO, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!" screamed Greg, who had been rendered immobile, and lay sprawled near a pair of scattered garbage cans like the trash he was.

The stranger felt his lips curl into a sneer and as he turned to regard Greg in the fading light of the flickering streetlight, which gave the younger man a haunted look, his pale skin seeming amber under the yellow light. "Remember _me_, Greg?" the man asked, his voice rising an octave. "Surely you must…" the stranger throatily crooned, and Greg froze.

He watched, horrified, as the mugger in the red and blue plaid shirt's form flickered and waved, like a distortion, a horrible tick of the light, and the Black Lake Killer's features briefly came into his line of sight and Greg felt his stomach lurch and drop to his stomach.

"You," Greg breathed, hardly daring to believe his eyes. "No way…"

Todd Baines grinned. "Hello again, old friend. It's _me_," he answered simply, almost giddy. "Glad you remembered who I am. That little detective you hired thinking she could get rid of me, well…she's just _dying_ to see you, Greg. Aren't we all?" he grinned coldly. Then, just as quickly as his playful grin had come, it faltered and vanished, and his lips pursed into a thin, pencil-straight line as he gathered the unconscious form of Helen into his arms and glanced down at her.

It was a moment before the killer spoke again, and Greg was startled.

His sharp profile had turned to the side, still carrying Helen in his arms, and for a moment, Greg thought he almost looked…dare he even think this next thought? _Normal_.

"If only _this_ one knew your dirty little secret," Todd Baines breathed, reaching up a hand to absentmindedly tuck a wisp of brunette hair back behind Helen's ear. "You don't really _love_ this one, do you? I've been watching you; you know. I know every move. " he said.

Greg felt his temper swell and was about to retort when something in the creature's voice gave him pause. He did not sound malicious, but rather…. almost _curious_, wanting to know why he was. Greg hesitated, biting his bottom lip, having eyes only for Helen.

The creep was right. That it should have been simple to just cut his losses and let her down gently, to just stay single for the rest of his life if he couldn't have Jessica, but…he had often told himself this was going to be as good as it got for him. Helen, aside from her hair color, was like Jessica Baines had been, back from his days in high school and community college in so many ways, it was most assuredly not healthy, what Greg was doing to himself. But she was there. When the pressure of his day was inside him, not like a tangled knot but more like a ticking bomb, he needed to let it explode somewhere safe.

He needed to go somewhere where it couldn't do lasting damage, and that was why he had Helen. That's why she had him. Whenever he needed to vent, she called him, and she knew what was coming. It wasn't an exchange, not in the same session. He got to yell his lungs out as much as he wanted and be a vengeful, crass, asshole of fury and she would sip her glass of wine and nod in all the right places, content to listen until Greg said his piece.

It would only be whenever he would pick up his own bottle of Corona that Helen would ask him if he was ready for her perspective, and if he was, he would keep drinking, otherwise the shouting would start all over again. Her job was to tell Greg how she thought the other side likely felt in the stories he relayed to her, what fears and insecurities may have motivated them, tone Greg's temper down rather than egg him on to the point of no return.

Then he could go back to his apartment and talk things through.

Sometimes, Helen was right, sometimes she would be way off, but he couldn't very well talk to anyone else whenever he needed to vent like that. No one deserved that. And Helen was just the same. She would call Greg up, he went, she vented, and he listened.

Maybe that's why he liked her.

Greg didn't know, but it worked for the two of them. He didn't gossip. No one knew his secrets or Helen's but for the two of them. He didn't know, sometimes he just felt like getting that rage was the best thing he could do.

Todd Baines snorted, repressing the urge to roll his eyes at the man's expression. One glance over at Greg and then back down at the unconscious tiny brunette girl in his arms was more than enough for Todd Baines. "I thought not," he added meanly, feeling his lips curl into a twisted sneer, which, in the fading moonlight as the fog rolled in, only made his appearance that much more monstrous. "You only keep _her_ around because she reminds you of Jessica, minus this hair color of hers, though I bet if you ask nicely," he added, sounding almost friendly, which immediately put Greg on his guard, "I can fix it." He shifted the unconscious woman in his arms, so that her head rested against his chest. "I can make all the hurt…disappear. Like you did," he growled, and when he took a barreling step forward towards Greg, who instinctively backed away, Greg recoiled as features of the man's face came into view. "Remember _this_?" growled the Black Lake Killer angrily, pointing to his left eye.

Or rather…what_ should_ have been his left eye. There was nothing there but an empty socket, and a horrible pink, jagged looking scar that began at the tip of his right eyebrow, snaked its way diagonally across the man's cheekbones, and ended at the tip of his lip, curling it into a twisted, permanent grimace. Greg had made Todd Baines ugly. Forever. No amount of surgery could fix it. "How could you not? I know _I_ do. You shot me with an arrow." He snarled and leaned in close, so the tip of Greg nose was practically touching his.

"I—I swear to God, I—I didn't mean to!" cried Greg, feeling the onset of a panic attack.

"No?" he growled darkly. "Do I look _stupid_ to you, boy? I don't, do I? You meant to. You shot me in the eye, gouged out the whole damn thing and took me out to the lake and tried to drown me when I kept you from seeing Jessica. I knew I was right about you, but she didn't listen. She—she was wrong about you! There's nothing left of you to _save_!" he bellowed, his face turning beet red. Todd leaned in close and sniffed the man's hair. "You smell of death, boy. It's your time, Greg. No point in trying to fight me, so don't. You'll lose."

"Please…" panted Greg, only to be met with the man's fist in his face as Baines delivered a blow that sent the head camp counselor sprawling, coughing and gasping for breath. "D—don't do this. T—take me instead. I—I'm sorry. I—it wasn't supposed to happen."

Todd Baines threw back his head and laughed in glee at seeing the stupefied look on Greg's face as he shifted the girl in his arms, her head lolling backwards, supported by the crook of his elbow as he held her gently. "God," he sighed, his usual tone beginning to creep back into his voice, losing all traces of seriousness that had been there before. He's beginning to sound like himself again, Greg thought bitterly. Todd Baines let out an understated little sigh, his gaze flickering from Greg to Helen often. "Whatever are we going to do with you, Greg? Or with _her_…That detective and her little special friend, and then there's the blonde girl too. Or Jessica…You all are presenting quite the…_problem_ for me."

"Just…just let her go," pleaded Greg, raising both his hands above his head, showing the man that he meant Todd no harm. "Let her go."

"_And_?" he drawled lazily, swiveling his head to the left to look at Greg. "What, then? If I let both go, I get _what_, exactly? Hmm? _Nothing_."

"Take me," he offered suddenly, as the wild, bold idea struck him. Greg said this, but his voice lacked the conviction he really needed to sell the argument he wanted to make. "If I go with you, you need to let Jessica and Nancy and all the others go. That's…my deal."

The Black Lake Killer's responding smirk made Greg sick with dread, and he clucked his tongue in mock disappointment and shook his head, as if he were disappointed in Greg's answer. "And what about _this_ one?" he jeered, jerking his head towards the unconscious woman in his arms. "You would just let her die, leave her to me? I don't think so, boy…"

"_What do you want_?" Greg cringed as he heard the crack in his voice but fought it back down and swallowed the lump forming in his throat. "Please." _Let her go_, is what he wanted to say, but couldn't will his mouth to form the words he so desperately wanted to scream at the top of his lungs. He was not surprised when the man turned his wrathful gaze on him.

"No."

"SCREW YOU!" Greg bellowed, with as much strength as his lungs could muster, in the hopes that someone would hear his shouts of distress. "WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

But this was Casston, the town that turned a blind eye to suffering. No one was coming.

"I want you to _suffer_, to feel what _I_ feel. I hope you're proud of yourself, Greg. It's too late for your 'sorry,'" he mocked. "You should have told me all that back when it could have made a difference. But it's too late. Todd Baines growled, and before Greg could so much as scream, the man lunged forward, the vengeful snarl on his face appearing yet again and warping into something monstrous, still keeping Helen's unconscious figure clutched tightly in his arms, though as he made a grab for Greg, he slung the young woman over his shoulder as though she weighed little more than a sack of potatoes, which, to Todd Baines, she probably did, Greg wondered briefly.

A string of curses unraveled from Greg's tongue, like yarn unfurling, as Baines advanced. He could hear nothing all was silenced, the hisses of Todd Baines, the light moan that escaped from Helen's lips, unconscious though she was, that tiny groan she gave off let Greg know she was still alive, which gave him a great sense of relief, all inaudible. All he could do was feel. Feel the cold ground pressed against his form, the heat from the pain, and the rhythm of his pounding heartbeat that would signify his end. He looked upward into the stars. His last thought was of Jessica, and he would be forgiven for using Helen so horribly, and for now being able to save Jessica from whatever he was doing to her… Greg wished he had been strong enough to save her. Jessica. And now Helen, and even Nancy and the others.

"My fault," he croaked hoarsely. "All my fault. I deserve to die. You got what you wanted, Baines. Me. Isn't that enough for you? It's justice, right? What you want."

"No," Todd snarled through clenched teeth. "It isn't enough. Justice…I can't think of another word more loved by the people. It does have a nice ring to it. However, without ever exercising your own strength, you seek the death of someone at the hands of someone else," the Black Lake Killer growled lowly. "The justice you refer to smells pretty _rotten_ to me. The stench of a bloodbath. Wouldn't you agree? Don't give me that look, Greg, old _friend_. Of all the people I know, I just thought I'd never hear those words coming from you. I'm…amused. That's all this is. In the grand scheme of things, our lives are insignificant. Light as air. Like a candy wrapper."

Greg let out a little whimper as he closed his eyes as he felt a searing pain, and his world faded to black.

Satisfied at Greg's grisly demise, Baines removed his blade from the counselor's stomach in one swift movement. Todd spat at the man's feet, before turning back to the young woman in his arms. Still knocked out, but she really was quite pretty. It was almost over, but first…

He had a few more loose ends to tie up. "Starting with that annoying little detective," he growled to himself as he walked back towards the woods, Helen still in his arms. As he walked, Todd reflected back on the events in his life that had led him down this path, whether he wanted it or not.

Todd committed his first murder when he was eighteen, a few years after his accident. He'd been hiding out in the woods, waiting, hoping that his sister would somehow find him.

It just happened and at the time he didn't think much about it. The man he killed was a junky who was traveling from places to places trying to overcome his heroin addiction. He observed that guy for a few days, walking around the lake shoreline, sitting on the pier looking at the landscape for hours at length. Todd decided that it was time to get a closer look at this man. From what he could see he was in his early twenties, he couldn't be older than twenty-five, he was sure of that.

The murder happened in the morning, but when thinking back about it, it would be more accurately described as manslaughter. Todd did not have any deliberate purpose to kill this man, his mind was rather blank, and it was a slaughter all right. He went to the barn where the man was staying, it was early morning. He saw the man lying on a blanket laid on the ground near a bale of hay, already awakened. He greeted Todd and told him he didn't think he would have such a visit in the morning. While Todd was coming closer to what would soon to be his first victim, he noticed a spade lying against the barn wall no more than two yards from where the man had set his makeshift bedding.

It what seemed a carefully choreographed but was a completely improvised move, Todd reached out for the spade, grasped it and with a perfect circular motion hurled it towards the head of the unsuspecting man. The blade of the spade hit the man's face with such violence that the impact produced a dull snapping noise. Todd was feeling elated as he looked at the face of the man, blood streaming out his poor victim's crushed nose.

Driven by a newly found instinct, Todd completed his deed and crushed the man's skull with his makeshift and deadly weapon. That was the first victim he had killed.

And he was only eighteen years old.


	20. To the Place Where the Crow Flies Alone

**Author Note**: Is anybody else feeling the strain of the isolation get to them yet? I have 3 more chapters left of this story and started work on the sequel to this one, In between working remote from home (which I feel extremely blessed to do, given there are plenty who are out of work during this time of crisis), I'm finding it a challenge to stay busy when I'm not working, so I seem to be filling my free time with finishing up Nancy's Black Lake story arc in between re-playing Treasure in the Royal Tower. Seemed only fitting since we, like Nancy in that game, are trapped within the confines of our homes. I'm anxious to get to her next story in this 'alternate universe' without Ned (Sorry Ned, but maybe you can date Deidre! LOL) , and hopefully the sequel to this one will be lighter. I will say in just the rough outline I have planned so far, the next story in my Nancy Drew universe will be lighter (I hope!)

Random fun fact: Out of all my N.D. stories I've written thus far, this one has surpassed the length of all the others, effectively making it the longest story for Nancy I've written yet, which I think is pretty neat! I've got lots of shenanigans in mind for our favorite detective in the sequel too, so we'll see where it goes once Black Lake is finished!

* * *

Ned Nickerson decided during mile three of his six mile walk as he wandered aimlessly through the deserted streets of Casston's little town to give up his former life and start fresh. His eyes never left the road ahead and as he passed the few onlookers as he entered the heart of the coastal town of Casston, there was the mumbling of bitter words spat more than spoken. Ned could not help but quirk a quizzical brow towards the newcomer's arrival as he wandered aimlessly down the sidewalk. He'd been on his way to that little café that the old blind man loved so much, the very one where he'd run into Nancy and the others, to have breakfast there before heading back to River Heights. Ned was unable to get his mind off of his and Nancy's breakup. This would undoubtedly make his parents, especially his mother, proud. She especially had been pressuring him to date and find his own happiness with someone other than River Heights' own teen detective, but his schedule with as quarterback on his college football team didn't leave much time to date, at least in the summer, though with summer ending soon, he'd have more time.

He couldn't explain it, but he liked her. A lot. And he wanted to be with her, if she would have him, for the rest of his life. Ned briefly wondered if Nan would take him back.

Ned knew by the second date that this girl was the one. Ned often wondered how long it took the average person to fall in love. A second? A month? A year? More than that? An eternity, even? To him, it was like asking someone how long it takes them to fall asleep. Some people were gone as soon as their heads hit the pillow. Others lie awake for hours and it's only when their brain stops churning for a while that sleep sneaks in and drags them under. For him, it was almost instantaneous, the moment she'd thrown that ball and smiled. There was something infectious about Nancy Drew that made him feel so young inside, but not in a childish way. She woke the pure side of Ned, the best side, all the facets of himself that only required love and affection to be healthy and whole. Should he be fortunate enough to have eternity to be with this girl, he would sink into serenity, just content to keep her close at his side. Their energy when they were together vibrated in such a unique way, a connection he'd never had with any other girl before, each the perfect complement of each other.

Ned was not simply "in love" with Nancy Drew. _Hell_ to the no. No, he was well and truly smitten with her. Any other was only a poor reflection, no more substantial than a shadow of the real thing. Norah Jameson is what made his heart strong. Her beautiful white smile alone burnished his soul into a beauty it could have never achieved on its own. Before they met, he was one, now he was a half, or so he hoped, at least assuming that by the time he got back to River Heights, all went according to his plan.

He had painstakingly planned what he wanted to say to Nancy, down to the last syllable. Yet somehow, he was so much more than he ever was before. Ned startled as he glanced at his own reflection in a nearby antiques shop window, not surprised to see his already pale face was almost white, devoid of color, his blue eyes wide and round like dinner plates. There was no getting around this. He was, for better or worse, falling hard in love with Nancy. Again, though he'd never really told her.

Actually, come to think of it, the two of them had never said those three most sacred of words to each other in the whole two years they were dating. There was no trying to deny it anymore. After their first date ended back home in River Heights two years ago and she'd gone home, he'd lingered by the pier, content to watch the night sky and constellations. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about her.

Ned didn't know how she had so easily gotten into his head. And he hated the fact that the fiery redheaded beauty could mess up his mind just so damn easily.

To be honest, he had always been afraid of love. He was afraid of the feeling that someone kept staying in his heart, making him wonder all night whether she had feelings for him too. You know that kind of pain. Pains in life were caused by being rejected when you made the conscious decision to give all your heart and soul to someone who doesn't need it. Pains were caused by opening your heart so easily, so casually. But here he was, alone, heartbroken after so many rejections

. Oh, plenty of girls would have been all too happy to date him, but not for him. For his fame, his money. He could see it when he looked in their eyes, all they saw was the stigma attached to his title and number. It made him depressed, but he could never think by himself how to escape the constant nightmare. Until he met Nancy, that is. Following their first date, he daydreamed about her, their life together. And now, Ned found himself doing it again. _No. No, don't, that's stupid! _ The irrational side of his fears were taunting him. He could tell himself that she wasn't the right one for him, but he knew it was all lies. _Maybe she is. Maybe I should keep my distance from her. _Having Nancy in his life made him feel like everything was possible in this world, like he could conquer anything.

He did not regret meeting her, and she knew that she was his first girl that he'd shown an active interest in dating, given his busy college schedule. It was one of the first confessions out of his mouth their first date, over Dairy Queen blizzards, following his admission that he was something of a chocolate nut. It was a relief to him to learn she was one. Ned knew that she might be his first girlfriend, but what he really wished in life was for her to be his last and only. One day, his wife. Not for at least another several years, though. Though the thought had crossed his mind what she would think of him if he were to eventually pop the question and propose. And now, his plans didn't matter anymore because Nancy was gone from his life. Forever. Ned sighed as he continued walking down the sidewalk, his hands in his jacket pocket.

The town was what a village becomes with no city planning and a great enthusiasm for architecture. Every building was different, borrowing this and that from another era from times past. It made the place as glorious as his own beloved grandma's quilt, every patch unique and as eye catching as the one that came before it. A sudden gust of wind blew through the town square, and that was also conveniently he happened to catch a stranger's eye, just briefly. A woman from the looks of the dress. He tried to imagine the young woman as a baby, a toddler, a child, a teen, and found he couldn't. There was something about her eyes… _Haunted_, he thought wildly. _So full of life, anger, rage, hurt. Why? _Somehow, Ned knew as he looked at the little elfin like blonde woman with the haunted blue eyes, that all her days had somehow led her here, to being nothing more than human surplus: unregarded, unrequired, unvalued. Unloved, even. A quick glance at her finger on his left hand bore no ring, so she was unmarried, and she looked around Nancy's age. When she turned her head just so, Ned drew in a sharp breath that pained his lungs as his brown eyes wandered upwards, studying the patch of skin beneath the woman's right eye. "Ouch. Got a nice shiner going, miss. What'd you do, piss off a rhino?" he asked.

The newcomer grunted quietly and turned the bruised eye toward Ned, before opening her uncovered eye and looking down at him through her lashes. She bit her bottom lip and hesitated.

"Th—thank god! I was hoping to run into someone. I…" here she hesitated. "I got into a fistfight with some man before I got up here, but thanks for asking. I'm Megan."

Ned frowned, seeing how nervous and skittish she was. "Look, I was just on my way to this little cafe just up the street, great little spot. You look like you haven't eaten in a good long while. Let me buy you breakfast. I know it's midnight and late, but…I'd like to." When the young woman opened her mouth to protest and vehemently decline, Ned flashed the girl a charming grin and clapped her on the back, steering her to the left and down the sidewalk, towards the café. "It's the least I can do. You new in town?" he asked.

"Yes," lied Megan, surprised at how easily the lie came to her. "I am." Even the truth as she spoke it, to this stranger, sounded like a fiction, and in her mind, it was. And so, she buried the truth in the fiction of her made-up story as she and Ned headed towards Café Mnemonic on 10th Street.

"Gotta find Nancy and the others, warn them," she murmured under her breath, which earned a quizzical look from the young and best quarterback on the River Heights Bull Dogs, but if it surprised him, Ned chose to make no comment on it. Though he did not know yet, he would soon learn it for himself. Ned had just made his first friend in his brand-new life.

"You go on ahead," Megan murmured as he opened the door of the restaurant for her. "I want to…check something."

Ned furrowed his brow into a frown but nodded, wordlessly going inside. Megan breathed a sigh of relief and turned back towards the empty street, walking away from the restaurant.

The world, Megan had learned the hard way, had teeth and it could bite you with them any time it wanted. _The world_, she thought, looks almost fake sometimes_. Like the mountains and sky in the distance are a backdrop for a set. A green screen. I hate the places my mind can take me. The places that scream everything is plastic and nothing is real_. _None of this feels real…_

It was quiet. Too quiet…A flash, a creak. There was something lurking in the shadows, an evil no one could see. A monster that tormented the people of Casston. This monster sought out the weak and made itself a home inside of their heads. Megan Grunhild drew in a sharp breath that pained her lungs as she lifted the skirts of her mauve pink maxi dress, careful not to trip on its long hem. She cursed under her breath, wishing she'd worn jeans and sneakers instead of her favorite dress and sandals. But such thoughts were not important right now.

_This is the last time you wear a dress out in these damn woods_, she thought darkly, careful not to make a noise. She'd spotted Baines leaving the old barn out on the west side of the Black Lake, with what horribly looked like to be two unconscious figures slumped over either of his shoulders. Megan shivered, clutching herself as it was now cold, and she had no jacket. She had been trailing Baines for the better part of an hour, once she recognized that flash of vibrant red hair and her heart sank. _This must be Nancy, the girl Eve told me about. If he's got her… _Megan didn't even like to think it. She drew in a sharp breath of cold air that pained her lungs and paused outside of Cliff's shop. It had been pure happenstance that she'd stumbled across the town at all, after crashing her car a few hours ago.

The young blonde stumbled towards the pawn shop, praying that Cliff was still there, that the old shopkeeper could help her, somehow. He couldn't drive, given he was blind, but he had a phone, and hers was on its last lifeline of battery life a half hour ago, so she had to conserve whatever was left so she could call for help if needed.

"Save them," she managed to gasp through clenched teeth, clutching at her ribcage, which throbbed and screamed for relief. "Can't let…him get to them, the—the monster," she panted weakly. Searing fiery bursts pulsated around the wound, intensifying with each dragging step, jarring and brutal. With each step the pain amplified, the bloody muscle quivered, her consciousness ebbed. Black mists swirled at the edges of her mind drawing her into sweet oblivion.

Casston had its own monster. And that monster was the Black Lake Killer, Todd Baines. Todd had, over the years, turned into something of a legend, becoming nothing more than ghost stories for the parents to tell the children, so they would be good and avoid the temptation to misbehave. They would say, "Be quiet and eat your dinner or Todd Baines will get you. He'll snatch you away and eat you up if you aren't good." All a bit macabre in Megan's opinion, but it worked. Megan furrowed her brow into a frown as she took another weak, staggering step forward. Inside her head…she could feel it, raging inside of her. Just loud enough for her to hear, but there was a door in between them. Megan had locked it up for years, tried to keep it as far away from her as possible, but things had become personable when the killer had taken her little brother from her. And this voice inside her head, it was still there…tearing through the holes, trying to reach what was left of her sanity. Her humanity. She figured it was only a matter of time before the monster managed to break through. The young woman had managed to keep it locked up for years, and had, as a result of severe trauma and abuse at the hands of her parents, been forced to harden her heart, and so, she had shut these memories and emotions in a door, but the door Megan Grunhild had put between the two was starting to collapse and crumble. And the Black Lake Killer knew this, she realized just then as it hit her. "Maybe," she breathed, exhausted, hardly daring to believe the own words that were coming out of her mouth, "it's why he let me go…"

Megan came upon old man Cliff's shop and flinched. She glanced at her reflection in the shop window and saw it, staring straight back at her. Watching her through her own blue eyes. Seeing everything she saw. It was waiting for her to become like Todd. Hoping that she would finally let her guard down after all these years. Knowing that sooner or later, the door would break. Lately, it had been finding ways to show itself. Ways to change itself. Ways to change her. As the seconds turned into minutes, the monster began to look more like her than anything else. Megan realized she could lose it all…

Unless he was killing someone, the young former camp counselor knew that Baines had always gone unnoticed in their small little sleepy town of Casston, except by the ones he'd stalked. Which, she supposed she was familiar with, given that he had stalked her recently.

He wasn't invisible, but he might as well have been for all the attention the cops of Casston paid the Black Lake Killer. At first, law enforcement officials thought it was just dumb kids playing pranks, telling ghost stories around the campfire at night to stir up more trouble.

In the three summer months she'd spent at Black Lake's campgrounds, she knew there was more to Todd's story than anyone else, except…for the sister. She would know better than most, and the only one who knew of the girl's whereabouts had been… "Cliff," she breathed. Megan had tried for the better part of two weeks once to get him to tell her where she lived so she could get more information out of Baines' only sibling for her term paper, but he had pursed his lips into a pencil thin straight line and flat out told the young woman no way.

"That family's suffered enough, leave 'em be, woman," he had growled darkly, no semblance of warmth ins his voice. "Sometimes, all someone wants to do is start over, make a clean slate of life. Best thing we can do for Jessica is give her some space, Miss Grunhild. Last thing she needs is folks snoopin' around askin' after Todd. Drop it. Leave the family alone and don't go near her, you hear?" She hadn't liked the rejection, but she'd obliged, virtually seeing no other choice but to comply. Megan let out a huff of frustration and turned away from the man's shop after trying the front door, jiggling the knob in frustration and finding it locked. "Damn," she swore. It was cold, dark, and the heady scent of rain and dark rumbling clouds loomed high in the sky above, threatening a thunderstorm in the not-so-distant future, which really sucked.

She let out a heavy sigh and stood on the sidewalk, trying to decide which direction to take, and she let out a pained cry as her footing faltered on something in the middle of the street. Her body twirled and jerked as she fell. Groaning, a hand on her forehead, she sat up straighter, looking around wildly for the source of the thing that had caused her to lose her footing. Frowning, she slowly inched forward for a careful look, and let out a horrible piercing scream that she was surprised didn't wake the whole damn town and bring them running.

Greg lay in the middle of the deserted street, cold, pale, and lifeless. Lifeless. His light brown hair was a disarray of tangles and matted, congealed blood, crimson in its garish wake. His dark eyes were wide open, but his eyes held a sudden sadness. His clothes, jeans and a green-t shirt, were bloodied, soaked to the brim. And the smell. The smell was the most disgusting thing Megan had ever had the misfortune to sniff. Her heart pounded as one question continued to race through her mind? Who did this? And then…as soon as she asked herself, she knew it.

"_He_ did this," she whispered, pinching her nose with her thumb and forefinger, bolting past his lifeless corpse. Despite her best efforts to block out the smell, it reached her again and her stomach heaved. The nausea clawed at her throat, and she tried to force down the bile, but it was too late. Her stomach kept on contracting violently and forcing everything up and out. Her face was white and dripping bile, sweat, and tears. She lurched forward and sunk to her knees. The pungent stench invaded her nostrils and she heaved even though there was nothing left to go. "Jesus—Jesus Christ!" she swore, weakly wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand, wishing she had a napkin. "S—sorry this happened to you, Greg…."

Megan Grunhild had never liked Greg, but even she had to admit, she didn't think he deserved…_this_. If she saw him in trouble, she just did not know if she would help. Oftentimes, whenever he would scold her for something or other, or the comments he had made when she had interviewed for the job about her family's history, she would imagine him dangling from a high-rise tower, and the only thing between him and certain death was her outstretched hand. The more her mind lingered on all the mean things she'd said to him and Troy, the more she saw Greg falling to the cracked sidewalk below, and now…and now…well…

"This," she whispered. That was enough. Megan could feel herself losing her mind…again.

The young woman could feel it unraveling, the threads of every happy memory she could ever once recall, nothing more than a disarray of strings scattered at her feet. "Can't let him get away with this. _Troy_. He took Troy. Killed him. Troy's gone, Troy's dead. Got to stop him."

Megan felt like she needed to conserve her energy so she could focus first and foremost on finding out wherever the hell Todd was taking his latest victims, though she could guess it.

"Why? Why am I like this?" she groaned, biting her nails. "I really am a stupid woman," Megan moaned, painfully twisting her hands together, weaving her fingers in between her knuckles and biting her bottom lip hard enough to bleed.

_Am I really considering following him into those woods_? Her conscience was tormenting her. Wild animals and creepy things roamed those woods at night—especially lately with the whole Black Lake Serial killer thing going on. The creep could come at any time and claim Nancy and her friends at any time if a wild animal didn't, if she couldn't find them all first.

"Nancy!" Megan called out as she walked. She was so winded and out of breath, she couldn't manage to call out for Nancy or Eve too many more times. "Have to…stay strong."

Besides, calling out her position for Baines to hear her repeatedly would have been stupid. Cursing herself for her inability to think rationally, she let out an anguished moan and ran a bleeding hand through her blonde pixie cut, wishing she could find someone to get help.

"Anyone? Hello?" Her voice came out as a weak, hoarse croak, barely heard above the sudden gust of wind that kissed her hair and ruffled the skirts of her maxi dress. "Eve?"

_I'm not enough, I'm not enough, I'm not strong enough. Can't do this. Failure_. Her conscience could not have picked a worse time to start its usual daily torment of her mind.

Mumbling to herself, she tugged at a lock of her hair and continued walking. Her heartbeat loudly, this heavy pounding drum rattling against the cage of her chest only she could hear.

Megan soon found herself scrambling through the woods, following the same path Todd Baines had taken, following the indentation of his boot prints, checking back cautiously over her shoulder to see if she was being followed. Moonlight reflected in the puddles, leaves scrunching underneath her summer sandals. A shadow appeared, looming behind her.

Silence. Megan paused, circled around, straining her hearing to see if she could make out the slightest movement. The sound of a breaking twig echoed in her head. Then it hit her.

This was that devilish fear in her mind, controlling her emotions, her actions. Using her.

Megan was breathing heavily. Not from her fatigue or her injuries from the car crash, not from lack of physical capability. But from fear. Genuine, honest to God fear. She stood at the edges of the woods in the cold midnight air, knowing that if anyone in her circle, what was left of the few family members that actually gave a damn about her, knew what she was doing, they'd most definitely slaughter her. And then…a tumble of movement caught her gaze.

Someone had parked their car at the edge of the woods, not quite near the campground's entrance, but far enough away from it, they could still venture into the woods if they wished.

It looked to be two of them, whoever they were, and Megan could tell they could not see her standing there watching them due to the lack of light. The wind gently brushed her hair and grazed her cheekbones, almost soothingly. This was what she needed though.

Redemption. She would do this, try her hardest to save Nancy. She owed Eve. The reporter had been so kind to her, offering her a place of shelter and safety when no one else cared. Even if there was some risk, some danger in what she was about to do, and…and…

Wait. What exactly _was_ she about to do? Did she even have any kind of plan? Did she just hope that she would stumble across the Black Lake Killer's hideout and by some miracle, he would let them all go alive and unharmed? "No way," whisper-hissed Megan angrily through gritted teeth, her fingers curling into a protective, tight fist over the strap of her purse.

Her legs no longer taking directions from her brain, she began walking, taking one ragged breath after another, her shaking legs putting on a strong façade. _What the hell am I doing?_

Fate, Megan Grunhild knew, was as cruel as Death, which was something she knew firsthand. There were demons in her life, guys like her father had been, who held her feelings and faults over her head daily and insisted she stay by his side at all times, doing unspeakable things to her that left her scarred, both physically and emotionally. She was a broken, battered wreck. The demons held onto her neck so tightly, they squeezed the very air out of her lungs.

Yet, she figured that at least fate would get tired of suffocating, that its clutches would numb and eventually loosen their grip. Love was like that, when it got in its strongest, it always weakened and eventually let go. Even so, Love was powerful, but Fate was unstoppable.

But… if she could help Nancy, save them, it just might be the key to her freedom, to a lifetime of peace and rest. It could release her and change her fate if it so desired, but as Megan climbed towards the edge of the wood's entry point, not sure nor was she caring so where she went at this point, she knew that this one simple act would never set her free.

At that moment, Megan had no idea the events in motion she was about to unleash, the lives she would touch and change, not to mention her own. She let out a tiny groan. She had reached the top of the hill had the edge of the woods and could climb no further. This was the moment. The moment she must make a choice, to enter or to turn around. To her, the choice should be relatively easy. But it wasn't.

Megan drew in a breath as the silhouettes of the figures who had emerged from the car stepped forward slightly into the moonlight. She recognized that outfit and dark tumble of long wavy chocolate hair. "Eve," she whispered, feeling her shoulder slump in relief.

But who is that with her? After she had put the pieces together, the fear kicked in at an overwhelming rate. This man that was with the young reporter was a _stranger_, and Daddy had always warned her growing up to be wary of _strangers_. The man, tall, slender, and mostly handsome, caught the young blonde's gaze at last. She visibly flinched and remained rooted to the spot. Before she had time to run, the young woman turned ad pulled out her cell phone out of her bag and rang the number Megan had given Eve Vanderhilt when they first met.

Her phone, miraculously, on its last leg of battery, blared out in the otherwise silent night air. Startled, the young reporter turned around to face the corner where Megan now stood.

Eve stopped the call and plunked the phone back into her bag. With a kind grin, Eve showed her gentle white smile, holding out her arms, expecting an embrace of some kind. _Damn_. She couldn't run now. They had found her, or rather, Megan had allowed herself to be caught. She trusted Eve well enough, but what if…who was that man, and why was Eve with _him_? After she remained standing there, Eve disappointingly dropped her arms to her sides, discontinued that grin and opened the passenger door to their rental car, rather angrily. "Get in," she demanded. Eve and her companion were surprised when the young woman clenched her eyes shut and turned her head sharply to the left, refusing to look at either one.

_She thinks we mean to hurt her_, Eve thought, and felt a pang of guilt tug at her heartstrings. The young woman looked positively miserable. The hem of her long dress torn and muddied slightly. A cut above her left brow bone was bleeding, and had trickled down her cheek, leaving a stained trail of crimson in its wake. A smudge of dirt on her left cheek was present and one of her eyes was developing a rather nasty-looking purple bruise underneath.

Eve gingerly took a step forward, her arm outreached, and laid a gentle hand on Megan's shoulder, which was trembling badly. "Megan," Eve said calmly. "Open your eyes, hon."

The young reporter frowned, moving her hand away from the blonde's shoulder and staring down at her, tossing her dark locks over her shoulder, crossing her arms across her chest.

One glance at Eli was more than enough. "She's been through a lot," the cop spoke up quietly, leaning forward slightly to whisper it into the shell of her ear and it did not escape Eve's attention that his hand automatically drifted towards the gun he wore around his belt, his fingers twitching. "There's no telling what she might do," he warned, lines appearing on his forehead as he furrowed his brow into a frown. "You ask me, we need to get her to a hospital, Eve, and fast." He pointed to her ribcage. "See that? She's bleeding, and it's only going to get worse. Could become infected if not treated."

"Oh." Eve breathed and drew in a sharp breath that was more like a hiss. The girl was bleeding, and blood had already soaked through the side of her dress. "You're right."

The reporter turned her attention to Megan. "Who did that to you?" she asked, jerking her head towards the wound in Megan's side. "Did…did Todd Baines do that to you, Megan?"

Swallowing back the lump forming in her throat, she took a timid step forward towards Megan, who automatically took a fumbling step backwards, then another. The last thing Eve wanted to do was to scare the young woman away. Not when they'd come all this way to find her now, even if her fear didn't make any sense. Megan let out a muffled little squeak, still refusing to open her eyes. "Megan, it's _me_!" Eve urged softly, doing her best to quell the tremor that lingered in her voice. She put a gentle hand on Megan's face and reached up a shaking finger and brushed back a lock of her blonde bangs that had fallen into her eyes.

Still, Megan shirked back from Eve's touch, as though frightened she would hurt her.

"Open your eyes, Megan, and look at me," came Eve's command again, fiercer this time, but not unkind, meant to shake the young blonde out of whatever shock she was experiencing. "Megan, it's me. It's Eve," she breathed, putting her hand back on Megan's shoulder and giving it a firm but gentle squeeze, as if she thought the gesture alone could reassure the broken young woman that everything would be all right in the end. _You'll see_.

"E—Eve?" whispered Megan in a tiny, weak-sounding voice, finally opening her eyes wide, blinking back briny tears as her lower lip trembled. The reporter's sharp eyes did not fail to notice that the camp counselor was looking disoriented as she blinked tiredly up at Eve. "Is it really you? Th—this isn't a trick?" she croaked. "I—I haven't…died or anything, have I?"

Eve frowned. Whatever had happened to Megan had been serious. She exhaled softly as she looked down her nose at Grunhild's beaten, battered form. "Yeah. It's me. This is my…" Here, she glanced sideways at the cop, seemingly struggling to determine what to call him. "My date. He's a cop. His name is Eli, and he won't hurt you," she said at last after a few moments of silence. Megan noticed the cop breath an audible sigh of relief and relax a little.

"We won't hurt you, ma'am," Eli spoke up cautiously, his tone guarded but friendly enough. "Can you tell us what happened to you? Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?"

At the mention of a doctor and going to the hospital, Megan's eyes flung wide open.

"No!" she shouted, her voice rising an octave, and even she flinched at how loud her voice was. Wincing, she swallowed back the lump forming in her throat, forcing herself to try again. "N—no doctors, no hospitals," she panted, clenching her side as a fresh wave of pain swelled in her abdomen. "N—not yet. Nancy, the others…got them…have to save them, Eve…."

Adrenaline flooded young Megan Grunhild's system, it pumped and beat like it was trying to escape. Megan thought her heart will explode and her blue eyes were wide with fear. Her body wanted to either run fast for the safety of the camp or get in the car and just go, go anywhere, just get away from this cursed camp, but instead the young woman remained where she was. Let's face it, there was only one thing she could do: Pray _he_ didn't kill them.

Eli took a step forward and unfastened a miniature flashlight from his belt, flicked it open, and shone the beam of light directly into Megan's pupils. "Something's wrong," he murmured under his breath. "Look at her pupils, Eve. They're dilated to holy hell. She's been drugged."

Eve's frown deepened and she steadied Megan by her shoulders. Megan looked so damn scared, but also seeming to be on the verge of passing out from stress and utter exhaustion.

"Okay." She nodded. "We're not going to leave you, Maggie," she whispered, hoping the use of her nickname would entice the young woman to calm down and tell them what happened. Eve glanced towards Megan, who seemed like she wanted to say something, but…she was obviously holding something back. She seemed so uncertain. So scared, even.

Still, Eve felt the all-too familiar hot spark of anger escaping her. "I—we looked everywhere for you," Eve spoke, holding open the backseat of the passenger door of their rental car open for her. "We've been looking for you all day, Megan. You shouldn't have left River Heights."

"I…" Megan bit her lip, hesitating. "I'm sorry," she whispered, immediately dropping her gaze to her sandals and shuffling her feet. "I…got lost when I came back. Car crash, a—and got lost in the…. woods," she finished lamely, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks at the thought of telling the cop and the reporter that she had very foolishly almost followed the Black Lake Killer into the woods, all for the sake of saving a young woman she didn't know.

Her blue eyes widened, her breathing became ragged and harsh. Her hands trembled at her sides, and she jammed her bloodied fist into her mouth to stifle the panicked yell of anguish.

None of them were going to make it out alive if Nancy Drew and the others didn't get help, if someone didn't stop Baines first. Megan lifted her chin slightly to meet Eve's gaze.

The dark-haired reporter was regarding the young counselor with something akin to pity in her hazel eyes, still continuously keeping her arms folded across her chest, though after exchanging a quick glance with her cop boyfriend, she saw the two nod, and turn to Megan.

"Get in." This time, it was the man, Eli, who spoke. "We're taking you to a hospital."

"He's got Nancy and the others!" wailed Megan suddenly, not sure where her outburst had come from as she twisted her hands together painfully. It hurt, but she ignored the pain for now. "A—at the place…where he works. Old barn, I think, out near the west side of the lake. You—we have to hurry, or he's going to cut them all up into little pieces, kill them all!"

Her hysteria was reaching its peak. Eli studied the young blonde in silence for a moment, and he felt a sudden shift within himself, and tightened his holster and got into the driver side door. "Get in." It was not a request. It was an order. Seeing no other choice, they did so.

"Where did he take them, Megan?" Eli urged. "I'm taking you to a hospital. Eve, you stay with her till I call you. _Yes_," the cop added, his tone clipped and hard, and both Eve and Megan recognized the police officer was on the verge of losing his patience, seeing Eve in the rearview mirror as she slid in the backseat of the cruiser to sit next to Megan to try what she could to keep the young woman calm. "It's not safe for you. Trust me, Eve. I'm a cop. We're gonna catch this bastard, but someone needs to stay with her," he said somberly, jerking his head towards Megan, who had begun mumbling inaudibly to herself and rocking in her seat.

Eve nodded numbly. It would do her no good to argue here. Not right now, of all times.

One glance to the left at Megan was more than enough for her. The young blonde woman had welts on her arms, long, red marks, and it looked like she'd been stabbed in the ribcage.

There were dark bruises along the column of her throat too—some of them finger markings. Her entire body was shivering, and the edges of her lips were tinged blue from cold.

The poor girl's skin felt a lot colder than it ought to have, and Eve hissed and recoiled at how icy Megan's skin was when she laid a gentle finger on the girl's wrist to check for a pulse as Megan Grunhild's eyelids fluttered closed, and her head rested against the passenger seat's headrest. "All right, but we don't exactly know where to go, but the message he left…"

_Where the crows fly alone… _"Where the crows fly," Eve murmured, staring at the window as Eli raced through the deserted streets, frantically punching in the address of the closest hospital into his iPhone, swearing under his breath as the damn thing struggled to get a signal.

Her mind was a jumble of tired thoughts, and the reporter knew not to fight it. _Where the black birds congregate. Where the crows fly, meaning in the wind, or in the open…Wait. In the open. In the air. Where everyone can see you. Follow me where I can see you. I will find you_. Eve let her thoughts circulate, just like crows would, taking whatever path her mind liked, however jerky or abstract. A full five minutes had passed as they drove in silence, and she let out a sigh of frustration, resting her chin in her hand as her elbow leaned on the passenger side door's armrest and that was when she saw it. The crow. That bird.

Only one, but it was more than enough. Perched high on top of an old roof, its shrill cry piercing the silent air. She wouldn't have heard it at all had she not rolled down her window in the backseat to try to get some fresh air flowing through the vehicle to ease Megan's suffering and to hopefully calm her down from whatever panic attack she was experiencing.

"There!" she cried, her voice raising an octave as she pointed out the window. "That's the place, Eli, look! Where the crows fly! I...I did it!" she breathed, not even bothering to hide the note of relief and excitement that had crept into her voice had having figured out this creep's damn riddle. The cop tried his hardest to see where she was looking, and he did so. The barn had seen better days. Twenty years of rain, sleet and baking summer sun had taken its toll. The structure that once kept the weather off the summer hay and the sheltering animals was now draftier than a railway platform. The roof that had been cedar shingle the same as the old farmhouse was worse than a gap-toothed sailor. Tiles were missing, rotten or sticking up at awkward angles. In places a stubborn patch of sun-bleached red paint clung to the wooden sides, but otherwise it was as brown as the rutted mud around it. The place looked like one good gust of wind in a freak storm would blow it down.

"There's where he has them," breathed Eve, her knuckles white as she clutched onto the arm rest to steady herself. "Pull over!" she demanded, hearing her own voice go hard.

Eli, who had been thinking the same thing, craned his neck and pulled the rental car over to the shoulder. He wasted no time in making sure the safety of his gun was off, and pulled his jacket tighter around himself for warmth, all the while holding the driver side door open for Eve as she clambered over the backseat and into the front, the keys still left in the ignition.

"Be safe," she whispered hoarsely. "Kill this guy before he gets to anyone else," she begged.

Eli nodded solemnly. "I'll try." Eve frowned. He didn't say that he would, just he would try. He noticed her furrow her arched eyebrows into a frown and elaborated. "This guy's good, E. Way out of my jurisdiction. You ask me, the FBI needs to be brought in, bring in a special investigations unit to catch this asshole, not an out-of-state cop from River Heights."

Eve returned the nod in quiet agreement, her gaze drifting towards his hands. His fingers still twitched as they hovered over his weapon. The cold metal made grayer the skin of his hand as if his own blood ran from the gun. Eli had said on their date that the chill was because the weapon took hostage a part of your soul; he said you only got it back if you used the gun for love, for protection and defense. Apparently, it was part of the natural order of things and the gun, something made of the matter of this universe, had to obey it as much as we did.

"Take Megan, get in the car, and take her to the nearest hospital and stay there," he ordered, his tone clipped and hard as he holstered his weapon, fixing Eve with an icy stare. "I will call you and come get you as soon as…" this is finished, is what he wanted to say.

But if he was being honest with himself, there was a strong possibility he wouldn't make it out alive. There was a reason, according to Eve, what little he knew of this killer and his M.O. that he had never been caught. He was good. _Really_ good. And that was dangerous.

Eli let out a sigh of anxiety, running his hands through his dark hair as he glanced over his shoulder towards the decrepit barn that may or may not be housing a mass murderer.

He didn't have much time to say what was on his mind, so he had to make this count.

"I care about you in a way you can't even begin to explain, Eve," he said cautiously, lifting his chin to meet her gaze and he drew in a breath that pained his lungs as he watched her hazel eyes grow wide and round with shock as she processed his declarations of his feelings for her. "In just the span of what, a day and a half, you made me feel excited, angry, jealous, pissed off, scared, numb, insane, and everything in between, all at once, I might add," he added, with no small measure of amusement and admiration in his tone, "which is a very difficult thing for someone like you to do to me. The point is, the emotions that I felt for you tonight, it isn't healthy, but it's worth something. I wouldn't ever feel that kind of…twisted passion towards someone that I don't care about on some level, and you and I, we just met, and it's no secret to you and me that I…that there's something here between us, and…" Feeling suddenly sheepish and pressed for time, he reached up at an itch to scratch at his ear, wishing with all his might that she would look at anything else but him. "Dating you, I can already tell is going to cause me more stress than literally anyone else in River Heights that I know." Eli watched as the beautiful brunette's face suddenly grew crestfallen.

Swallowing back the lump in his throat, he took that as his cue to continue speaking.

"But I care about you, a—and I'd like to…to…take you on a second date after…all this is over, if we make it out of this alive, that is," he finished lamely. When she did not respond immediately, he felt the panic take over, and he had to stop himself from asking the question that was burning on the tip of his tongue.

Finally, he couldn't resist the urge anymore. He had to know. "So? What's your answer?"

Eve nodded, resting her chin against the rolled down windowsill. "Yes," she whispered. "I'd really like that, Eli. But if you don't mind…can we talk about this later? The girl needs a hospital, and you have a killer to catch. _Officer_." Eve opened her mouth to say something else and was caught completely unprepared. She would have thought that after all the hours she'd spent with Eli - watching him talk, laugh and frown - that the young reporter would know all there was to know about his lips. But she never could have imagined how warm they would feel pressed up against her own. He broke apart first, gave Eve a curt little nod, and jogged off towards the barn. Eve watched, frowning slightly as she watched him disappear. "Be safe," she whispered, and waited until his silhouette faded completely from view before putting her foot on the gas pedal and heading off towards the nearest hospital. This week was a first for her. The first date that had, like all the others, ended in utter disaster, but also the first of its kind to end with a feeling that Eve did not recognize.

Hope. It was small and faint, barely just a flicker above the wind, but it was enough.

_We're going to get you out of this, Nancy_, Eve promised as drove. _I promise..._


	21. All that Remains

**Author Note**: 2 more chapters to go! :) I had a hard time writing this climax, this final confrontation, trying to figure out exactly what I wanted to happen for Todd, since I feel sorry for him but I definitely do not condone what he is doing, and I never like seeing our favorite girl detective in a spot of trouble, but I'm pleased with his outcome. Minor violence warning ahead and some language? hence the **T** rating (insert evil laughter here). Still, with this one I tried to imply rather than show with certain situations, and I thought it was important for Nancy to have a dialogue with the villain. Still another 2 chapters to go, as I want to wrap this story up on a happy note. I have them already written out, but am following a new posting schedule, so it'll be a couple days yet. Frank still owes Nancy that first date, after all, (lol), and then this story will be wrapped up and a much lighter sequel is coming! Not that I don't enjoy writing creepy villains, but Nancy needs a break from serial killers, so in the next story, I plan to tackle a different kind of villain.

I appreciate everyone's patience and hope you enjoy!

* * *

Frank Hardy blearily awoke and tried his hardest to focus his gaze a few feet in front of himself. The thick scent of dust and hay reached his nostrils and he coughed once or twice to try to clear the thick coating of phlegm that had settled in the back of his throat. "Nance?" he murmured, lifting his head and tried to irritably brush back that one stubborn, coarse lock of his thick dark bangs that would occasionally haphazardly get into his eyes, only to find that he couldn't. "What...?"

One quick glance down was more than enough. He'd been hogtied to a chair, and from the sounds of things somewhere in the loft up above, the creep that had Nancy was talking to her, trying to have some kind of...last dialogue with her before he would undoubtedly unceremoniously rip her to shreds, piece by piece. He seemed to Frank the type that delighted in watching his victims suffer, playing with them like a kid would toy with his food before eating it. "Gotta get us out of here," he grunted, struggling against his restraints. "If only I could kick then I could get out of these and..." He muffled a started scream as he felt someone tugging on his rope restraints.

His shoulders relaxed when he saw it was only Helen. "Helen," he breathed, feeling his shoulders sag in relief. "How'd you get out?" he asked. He figured there was no way Baines would have left Helen unattended. Frank grinned as he saw her hold up a small pocketknife.

"I hid it up my shirt sleeve during my walk with Greg, just in case..." she whispered, her gaze nervously flitting behind her, to the side, and then up to the loft where the noises were. "I don't know what he's planning, but I could hear him talking to her earlier, when I...when I woke up. I don't think he plans to hurt her just yet, but you'd better hurry," she urged, finally cutting loose the last of Frank Hardy's rope bindings. "Go," she whispered. "I already called the cops, Sheriff Jones is sending a unit."

Frank nodded silently, afraid if he said anything it would give away their position for the killer to hear, and that he would not do. "Hang on, Nance," he whispered under his breath as he strained to locate the source of the low talking. The place, he realized, was like a damn labyrinth, which was impressive, even he had to admit.

_Baines must have remodeled this place over the years_, he thought as he wasted not another minute standing around and doing nothing. "Just hang in there, Nan."

_I'm coming to save you. I promise... _

* * *

Todd Baines frowned as he stared down at his captive, the girl with the fiery red locks that looked like she had been kissed by the sun when she was born. She was beginning to be something of a problem for him and this had caused him to come to the decision to separate her from her other pesky friends. Wide, bright, shining blue eyes the color of a robin's egg stared back up at him, just a hint of fear in her eyes.

The smallest admission of fear. Good. It was going to have to be enough for him. With her hands handcuffed together and her mouth covered, the girl looked completely and utterly defenseless—in a strange way Todd kind of felt excited about if he were going to be honest with himself. This girl was a special one. Not like the others. Not afraid of him, or if she _was_, she was damn good at hiding the truth. A challenge. That's what this young woman was. A challenge.

And Todd was never one to shy away from a challenge. Just knowing he could do whatever the hell he wanted to this woman made him feel entirely powerful—maybe more powerful than he'd ever felt in his life, and that included taking care of Greg earlier. Todd's heart pounded in his chest and his breathing rate increased as he realized he could literally do anything to the young redhead woman bound in the loft of his barn, which he had modified over the years of hiding, turning it into something like a labyrinth. He could kick her, break the detective's bones one-by-one, cut her pretty little face with a knife, make her one ugly whore if he was of a mind to, and yet…he didn't want to ruin her features. He could burn her arm with a cigarette, choke her, stab her, whatever he wanted.

And something in Todd's gut told her she would take it, if judging by the fire in her eyes was anything for him to go off. This girl was brave, a strong one, not so easily shaken up or scared like all the others he'd dealt with in times past. He should have taken this young woman for himself the minute she set foot on the campgrounds. Baines had never so much as given it a second thought as to how fun it might be to steal her away and keep her hidden, to be his pretty little obedient plaything for as long as he wanted, because no one would find them all the way out here.

As Todd stared down his scarred nose at the girl who'd been nothing but a thorn in his side ever since she arrived in Casston, he could see the young redhead was trying hard not to cry, blinking back briny tears, every once in a while, an occasional grunt or squeak would escape her gag, but she was also trying to be subtle in her movements as she shirked away from Todd's groping hands as he squatted down on the barn loft's floor and placed a surprisingly tender hand on her leg.

"Does it bother you?" he asked softly, feeling his voice lower an octave and go quieter than it usually did whenever he was around a new victim. Which was surprising to him. This kind of tone he usually only reserved for Jessica. The young woman made a muffled noise through her gag. Annoyed, Todd reached up a hand and, with surprising gentleness, removed it for her. "Better?" he asked, a mock note of concern laced throughout his deceptively kind voice. He was rewarded with a withering stare. "Welcome, Nancy," he said courteously, throwing out his arms as if he were inviting her into his home. "Do you like it?" he asked politely. "It's not much to boast of, but…growing up, this place was a paradise for us."

Nancy struggled to move and found she couldn't. Glancing down, she repressed a tiny groan. Wherever Todd had brought her and Frank, she had been carried into what looked like the barn loft. The strong scent of hay and dust filled her nostrils. She was bound in a chair and her hands trapped in a pair of metal handcuffs. _No getting out of these without the key_. "Oh," was all she could muster up the energy to say. Nancy felt like the room was slowly suffocating her, the air pressing down, as if she was drowning, but not able to do a damn thing about it. She thought briefly maybe it would be better if she drowned. At least then, the nightmare would be over, but no, she had Frank to get out. As she looked at the Black Lake Killer's hulking, towering, and stocky form as he loomed over her, his arms folded across his chest, she felt a new surge of fear course through her veins, chilling her blood. They say there was nothing to fear but fear itself, yet in this world that was not true. Many things were worse than fear. The truth, for the young detective, in those words, was a warning that fear could change whom she was inside, make her compromise where she should stand firm. This house—these people—were testing her limits, pushing all her right buttons until…

"Wh…where's Frank? And Helen? What did you do with the others?" she demanded, groggily opening her eyes, struggling to keep her eyes open. No doubt the drugs he had injected her with upon rendering her unconscious were starting to take effect. _Good_. He smirked and relished in her shrinking away from him as much as she could with little victory on her part. The drug would enable her paralyzed.

Oh, not permanently, of course, where would the fun in that be? Just long enough for him to complete his work. Narrowing his eyes, Todd stared down at the whore who had caused him so much trouble. It might be funny just to slowly work towards getting her to cry. He was close to that point already. She'd gotten a little teary earlier the minute he had dragged her away from the dark-haired teenager she'd been with when he found them, but not a full on sobbing breakdown, complete with tears, screaming, shaking sobs, the works. Todd would have been lying to himself if he'd said that he didn't want to make the young woman cry more than anything right now. Just to see how easily he could do it. The women always cried, in the end, see much pain the girl could put up with, maybe even see if he could get the bitch to cry without hurting her at all, without laying as much as a finger on her at all.

"Safe," he answered at last, and for some reason, he felt that familiar tenseness in his shoulders begin again as he watched the young detective's shoulders sag in relief, and she breathed an audible sigh of relief. Todd Baines weighed the knife in his hand. It was no heavier than a kitchen blade, but would cut on first contact, even with minimum pressure. Its serrations were like waves, but not randomly, so like on the cheaper knives you could buy in a store. They would slide in smoothly and do maximum damage on the way out, like the barbs on a fishing hook. At seven inches, he could easily keep it under his jacket, not his only weapon of course, but a useful back up in close combat. For some reason, when he saw his reflection in the steel, his mind flicked to wounded woman bound and helpless in front of him, forced to a kneeling position on her knees. He hated it so when they died too soon, but he had to punish them. They were dirty, their ways filthy and wanton. If they refused his teachings, Todd Baines sliced them. Hell, he usually did that anyway. If they fought back, he cut even deeper, savoring their anguish in killing them slowly. He was firm and fair; they were whiny and without morals. He picked the girls for their painted lips and short skirts, he felt drawn to their high heels and long legs. They made him think bad thoughts, unclean thoughts. They made him lustful and unchaste, something within himself he despised.

His father had instilled in him at a young age to be wary of women after their mother had left them when Todd was only nine.

"Why are you doing this?" Nancy asked, careful to keep her voice neutral, eyes level.

The Black Lake Killer noticed her look and smiled, the smile not reaching his eyes, so…_lonely_. Was that even the right word? Yes. Lonely. There it was. "I've been wanting to share a dialogue with you, Nancy, for a long time now. I've been watching you, pet, ever since you stepped foot onto this campground's soil."

"Why?" was all she was able to ask the man.

Todd growled. "Because I can, sweetness. That's why. You _counselors_," here he spat the word as if it were poison in his mouth, "only care about physical attraction to one another and sex. You don't know what it means to really, truly love someone, do you? No. I thought not. There's a connection between "beauty" and "love," but not in the way our media would have us believe, wouldn't you agree, _detective_? They tout a form of beauty that is simply aesthetic, something that could inspire lust—a thin replica of love based more in desire and conquest. It disgusts me, it really, truly does. All of you," he hissed as he ground his teeth, "you know nothing of real love. Not like…" But his voice trailed off and he didn't finish.

Furrowing her brow into a frown, Nancy visibly flinched as she watched the man begin to restlessly pace the barn loft, all the while twirling a pristine clean silver dagger in his hands. _Where are you, Frank?_ She thought, pained. "Wh…where's…." but her voice broke. Nancy was rendered speechless. All she could do was stare and hope that she could find a way to break free. Even she could not guess what a man like this wanted with someone like her. She swallowed hard back past the lump forming in her throat as Todd Baines continued.

"Safe. I told you."

Nancy nodded, knowing if she spoke out against him, he would likely strike her, or even worse. He noticed her looking and smiled at her again, catching her off-guard. His smile was genuine; almost…dare she even think this? _Kind_. Sweet. "Frank, wh—where is he? What have you done with my partner, Baines?" she pleaded. "I—I want to speak to him, I need to know he's all right," she whispered, and the tenderness in the redheads' voice gave Todd pause, and…and…he was hardly aware he'd set the knife down on a nearby wooden table and had begun to dig his fingernails into the wood of a nearby beam, a pillar that was one of many that held the rickety old barn upright, even after years of weathering bad storms and even old age.

It took him a moment to realize it was rage. The way she spoke the man's name with such a graceful gentleness, dare he even think for a minute that it was love, _true_ love, like Jessica had always prattled on about, made his blood boil and course through his bloodstream just then. Never before did a man's name sound like a curse. What made it all the worse was the way the cretin's name sounded on her lips. This—this _bitch_ of a detective had cried his name with such anguish that he felt his very blood boil and he curled his hands into fists to prevent himself from striking out at something, but then she said the brat's name again, even softer.

That was the breaking point of his patience. At that moment, Todd seethed and ground his teeth together, jaw locked, and he was blinded by a five-course serving of rage that tasted bitter, yet surprisingly satisfying. Todd reached out. He went to punch the young woman in the face. When his fist came into contact with the right side of her cheek, even he winced at the sharp cracking noise as her head whiplashed backwards and hit against the headrest of the chair. Nancy let out a sharp yet soft cry of pain, and that only fueled his inexplicable ire more.

Todd tried to shake the aching after taste, on the taste buds of his hand. Much like coffee, its bitterness drew him in to take another sip knowing he would be more awake than before. There was a fresh black and purple bruise underneath her left eye already, that would yellow as it aged, and Todd knew it would stick around at least a week or two, and she kept her head tilted backward, and for the briefest of moments, Todd was tempted to run his palms along the smooth column of her throat, to really feel her skin, to see if it was as soft and unblemished as it really looked. He stifled a low growl in his throat and resisted the urge.

The Black Lake Killer grabbed the back of her chair and tilted it backwards, her red hair falling back over her shoulders. He smirked as she continued to fight her bindings, but she wasn't going to be getting out of those anytime. "Looking for _this_?" he taunted, holding up the key to her handcuffs before slipping it into the back pocket of his jeans. "Don't try to fight it, Nancy."

He almost laughed at seeing the look of defiance in her blue eyes, but then what she did next set him on edge. She spat in his face. Red. All that filled his vision was crimson red. Burning rage hissed through Todd's body like deathly poison, screeching a demanded release in the form of unwanted violence. It was like a volcano erupting; fury sweeping off Todd like ferocious waves. The wrath consumed him entirely, engulfing his moralities and destroying the boundaries of loyalty. The Black Lake Killer could envision Nancy bleeding already for what she had just done. _Never_ had one of his little playthings spat in his face before. This was a first, one he could not allow to go unpunished. Todd drew back his hand and backhanded her so hard across her pretty little face that even he flinched at the deafening crack. Not broken, no, but it would hurt for a while. He felt guilty, but he couldn't stop. So many years of bullying that sunk deep into his mind and added a fire-hot spice that completed the vexed dish he was serving, though he considered that little deed mostly finished as he had killed the ugliest. He had killed Greg.

But still, he would not consider his work completed and finally able to rest until the campground was closed for good. So many places of bad memories. Todd knew he should put an end to all of this, just…take Jessica somewhere and go, apologize before he made it worse, but he just didn't have it within him to stop. "S—Stop," came the detective's plea desperately.

He almost had to strain forward to hear her through her mumbling, her voice was so soft and quiet. Timid, even. Her tone was not fearful, and this gave him pause, so…he stopped.

Todd watched, curious, cocking his head to the side as the young woman turned her head sharply to the left and spat a mouthful of blood off to the side. "You…don't…have to…do this…" she rasped weakly. "Th—there's still…time. Give this up. Turn yourself in, Baines."

He said nothing, and, no longer wishing to stand, looked around the room until he found what he was looking for. Nancy winced as the loud scraping of the wooden chair he dragged across the room rang in her ears. His face remained neutral and impassive as Todd turned the chair backwards and straddled it in front of Nancy, resting his chin in his hands as he regarded the young detective with an inquisitive expression, as if she were an exotic animal in a zoo.

"I don't know what it was, Todd, th—that bent your life out of shape," the young woman began hesitantly, lifting her chin, jutting it out slightly defiantly so in order to look him in the eyes. "B—but maybe…I've been there too. Maybe I could help you. Rehabilitate you. You don't need to be alone. You…you don't have to kill anyone else, Todd," her voice came out as barely a whisper. "Let me…let us help you, Todd. We can…we can fix you. Get you help."

Todd froze, considering her words. "I'm sorry." His voice was solemn, no hint of malice or joking at all. "I'm sorry, but…no. It's too late for me," he spat, sounding disgusted with himself. "I'm trying. But I can't feel a goddamn thing, Miss Drew," he growled. The Black Lake Killer regarded Nancy in silence for a moment. She really was quite a pretty little thing.

He almost hated to ruin her face in a moment. _Almost_.

"Todd…please don't do this…" Nancy startled as she heard a muffled yelp from somewhere down below the loft. _Frank_, she thought wildly, and swallowed hard to quell the lump in her throat. Her throat felt incredibly dry and scratchy, and she wanted nothing more than a drink of water. "Wh…t—think about Jessica. She—she wouldn't want this for you, would she?"

"_You_ don't get to talk about my sister," growled Todd angrily, jabbing a finger in her chest and poking her hard. "Leave Jess out of this. You really wanna know how it feels, huh?"

Nancy nodded mutely. Anything to stall him, keep him talking. Maybe…just maybe then…help would arrive, and they could all get out of there. "I do. Tell me, Todd…"

If she kept him conversing like this, maybe whatever Frank was doing down there would allow him to go get help.

Todd frowned. "Well, it's like…when you go under water, and you close your eyes. Everything in the world suddenly ceases to exist somehow. The only thing you hear is the beating of your heart and the thoughts on your mind, and if you don't reach the surface, you start to feel your lungs craving for oxygen, burning because you can't breathe," Todd growled, and Nancy gulped nervously as she saw the briefest flickers of pure, unadulterated rage pass through his one good eye.

The detective figured talking about his almost-drowning was a bitter, sore subject for him, so she wasn't surprised at the one emotion that she could read in his one good eye. She was trying her very hardest not to stare at the scarred, black empty socket that used to be his other eye, and she wondered what happened to him then. Nancy watched as his lethal stare felt painful and piercing, as if his glare was tearing her heart apart. She looked down at her lap and rested her handcuffed hands on her thighs. Blood. Her own. She looked up at him again, this time, with widened eyes. A final glance at his furious eyes confirmed her possible outcome.

Eventually, Todd Baines would kill her.

The young woman watched as the serial killer's eyes misted over, as if he were remembering something. Whether that memory was unpleasant or a happy one, Nancy could not tell at all.

Todd let out a low, guttural growl from the back of his throat. "That's how I feel about everything lately," he said in a quiet voice. "I can only hear the echoes of past voices in my mind. Sometimes…it's hard for me to breathe, but the rest of the world doesn't matter. Nothing matters right now except for Jessica. I just feel the beating of my own heart. Nothing less, nothing more. The world never gave a shit about people like her and I, so why should I?" Todd heaved a heavy sigh, feeling around in the pockets of his black and red plaid shirt until he found a carton of cigarettes and a lighter. He clamped one between his teeth, and Nancy noticed his hands seemed a little uncoordinated and kind of fumbling. Nervous, even. "Your little boyfriend's like an overbearing bastard, right?" Todd finally spoke up, seemingly interested in making conversation with his captive. Nancy frowned. "No," he growled, jerking his head down towards the stairwell below. "Not _that_ one. The _other_ one."

Nancy swallowed. To that, she didn't know what to say, so she thought silence was best.

Todd merely grunted in response. "My life would be a lot better off if I wasn't…here. Like _this_," he growled, gesturing with his finger towards his empty eye socket, and at the scar that snaked its way across his brow bone and ended at the curve of his lip, twisting the edges of his mouth into a permanent grimace which gave him a truly terrifying look, but…but… Nancy sensed there was more to Todd than he let on, and if she could just continue to have a dialogue with him, then maybe there would be no need for the night to end in bloodshed. The young detective flinched as she felt his hand drift downward, where it rested on her thigh as he scooted his chair that little bit closer. Todd noticed her look of trepidation and his lips curled into a taunting sneer. "Run, run, _run_…that's _all_ you ever do. You haven't changed anything yet, Miss Drew," he explained, feeling his voice go dangerously low and quiet. "You haven't saved any of them, Nancy, and you won't. What's done is done…"

"That's not true!" Nancy shouted, feeling the beginnings of fear prick at her heart as she felt his hand move with surprising tenderness up her thigh. She flinched, not wanting to show this man just how much he was getting to her, and feeling like she was doing a bad job of, because he noticed and his lip twisted upward into a mischievous smirk, his one good eye twinkling.

"Ah," he said casually, biting his bottom lip in almost a playful way as his fingertips grazed the column of her throat. "You. You're trying to remember your training," he mocked. "What's the regulation to cover _this_?" he taunted, settling his hand around Nancy's pale throat. He glanced down at her thighs and regarded her torn and dirtied jeans. "Hmm? See what your little boyfriend has done to you? He has made you a mess, Nancy," he sighed, almost sounding…disappointed.

"Can't say this is my first time being tied to a chair," Nancy snapped hotly, feeling her fear manifest as anger. "Though Ned never… never did that," she whispered, feeling her shoulders slump as she thought of Ned, hoping and sending a silent prayer to whoever was up there that Ned and the others had made it safely back to River Heights, while they still could. "Get off."

"His loss," Todd answered simply, reaching up a strong hand and toying with a lock of her hair. "All the physical stuff…so dull," he drawled, now sounding bored. "So…old-fashioned." The Black Lake Killer glanced down at Nancy's knees and then to her restraints. "Your knees must be killing you," he admonished, feigning concern for the state of her well-being. He noticed Nancy's gaze drift upwards towards his empty eye socket and he let out a dark chuckle. "Go on, then. Ask. I know you want to."

Nancy bit her bottom lip, hesitating. "What happened to your eye, Todd?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Greg," came his simple answer, and Nancy's eyes grew wide and round. "He shot me with an arrow and tried to drown me when I stopped him from seeing Jess."

She could tell by the pure unadulterated hatred in the man's tone as he spat Greg's name as though it were poison that had settled on his tongue, that something had happened to the head counselor. Nancy hated thinking along these lines, but she wouldn't be surprised to learn later if they made it out of this alive, that the police had managed to find Greg's body lying lifeless in a ditch somewhere.

"Todd," begged Nancy, and she hated the weakness that was laced throughout her voice. She swallowed as Todd drew closer, having resumed picking up the dagger he'd left on the side table, along with another set of instruments she couldn't and didn't even want to identify.

_Frank, whatever you're doing, please hurry_, she thought wildly, doing her best to control the panicked look that she was certain was present in her blue orbs. "Y—you don't have to do this, Todd. You could take Jessica a—and leave. Right now. I swear it. I—I won't tell anyone you were here. Y—you could…I'll say we were mugged and brought here by a couple guys."

At her desperate plea, Todd Baines threw back his head and let out a short, bark-like laugh and regarded Nancy, seeming almost amused with her attempts to reason with him.

Todd resumed his seat in front of Nancy, continuing to sit in that way of straddling the chair backwards, twirling the knife in his hands, admiring the sheen of the silver in the dim light, courtesy of the moon that streamed in through a hole in the barn's roof. He let out a bitter laugh as he shoved Nancy's chair painfully back against the wall. "No. It's too late for me. I'm far too gone. I've killed people. I'm an angry, bitter, violent asshole. I know what I am…I can't go back from that, no matter what Jess says. If there's one thing our dad got right…there's no hope left for someone like me." The self-loathing in his tone was evident.

Nancy felt her mind quickly going into overdrive to put the missing pieces together.

"Yes, you can," Nancy rasped out hoarsely, reaching up with her cuffed hands as she felt Todd's grip around the column of her throat tighten slightly. "Todd, yes, you can go back. I—if Casston and Bangor, if these places are too painful, take Jessica and just get out of Maine. You can leave and have your own life. G—get married, have kids who treat you well. Put all this behind you a—and start over," she whispered breathlessly, hardly daring to believe the words that felt like they were tumbling out of her mouth, her tongue no longer listening to her brain.

Todd laughed and tightened his grip around Nancy's throat, ignoring her desperate clawing at his hands as she struggled to pry his hands off her.

"You of all people shouldn't suggest to me that I _ever_ have kids. You're one to talk, Miss Drew. You can't even keep a boyfriend, so what makes someone like you think you'll ever have kids, huh? Don't lecture me about what you think I should do," he snarled, leaning in so the tip of his nose practically was touching hers. "What woman would ever want _this_?" he snarled, gesturing to his deformities, the huge gaping hole where his eye once was, and she drew in a sharp breath that pained her screaming lungs and ribcage as he rolled up the sleeve of his plaid shirt, his arm littered with dozens of angry scars, thick, red and white jagged lines, and several burn marks, fixing Nancy with a cold stare, almost emotionless. "Hmm?" he growled. "You know any volunteers? Certainly isn't going to be _you_. Just looking at you and how those boys fought over you makes me want to punch you and beat your little body within an inch of your pathetic life. Why you? You're nothing special, kid," Todd growled, squeezing her hand even tighter around Nancy's life. "It's _sick_. You're playing them both with no regard to either one's feelings. Just as Jessica did once, when she…used to date," he hissed."I knew I was right to take you. Both those men will be better off without a sniveling little detective in their lives. They'll be free. Women like you test men's baser instincts and inflame them."

"And Jessica? What 'baser instinct' does she ignite in you, Baines?" snapped Nancy hotly, immediately clenching her eyes shut and braced herself for another blow, but it didn't come. Damn her and her temper. It was going to be her undoing one of these days, she just knew it. It was her and Ned had so many disagreements. She would lash out in anger and say things that she didn't mean, though by the time she had, it was always too late to take them back.

"She's different." It did not escape Nancy's attention how whenever Todd said Jessica's name, something in his eyes sparked and softened, and his voice grew quiet, almost thoughtful in a way. Though there was that other part of Todd that almost sounded possessive when he spoke of Jessica, and the mention of her dating others seemed to light a fire in him that Nancy wasn't quite sure what to make of just yet. Nancy furrowed her brow into a frown as she thought of Todd's possessiveness and protectiveness. _Could he...really love her in...that way?_ Nancy wondered, and then immediately violently shook her head to clear her mind of such thoughts. _No! No, that's stupid! Get it together, Drew, this isn't Game of Thrones. Todd wouldn't do that to Jessica...would he? _

She liked to believe he wouldn't, but given the erratic way he was behaving and his violent mood swings that seemed to have no states of gray-scale, Nancy decided she couldn't rule it out, as much as _that_ little pleasant thought made her stomach churn and the bile rise to the back of her throat.

"Weak women like you and that other counselor just piss me off. But you deserve to be hurt just as much as the others," he hissed angrily. "Maybe more since the world keeps giving you a pass. No second chances here, Miss Drew," he growled, squeezing his hand even tighter around Nancy's throat. "Jessica, she's the only one who really understands me. What I am. What _we_ are."

The young woman let out a frightened little gasp as she grabbed her fingers around Todd's burly arm. The man was close to choking the life force out of her by this point. Nancy would have let out a cry if she were able to breathe. Instead, she opened her mouth and only managed a tiny, strangled, choking noise as tears began to stream down her cheeks. Her ribs ached and hurt horribly from where Todd had hit her, but her lungs screamed and burned for relief even more. She couldn't breathe. Her vision was growing gray at the edges. Letting out a tiny whimper, Nancy felt her eyes clench shut as she tugged desperately at Todd's plaid shirt sleeve, wincing as the harsh cold metal of her handcuffs dug into the tender skin of her inner wrists. She couldn't breathe. She squirmed underneath Todd's weight, trying anything she could think of to get the older man away from her.

If Todd didn't let go soon…the Nancy was going to pass out and Todd Baines could actually kill her, intentional or not. Todd's one good eye narrowed as he glowered at Nancy until was nothing but a slit. It was unnerving to see the head of a snake glaring at her on a human body. "When I saw you walking in the woods this evening, your innocent baby blue eyes looking around like you expect the very Maine air you breathed in to attack you…I wanted to hurt you. You're so…so…" He paused, seemingly struggling to find the right words. "Clean. Protected. _Loved_," he snarled, spitting that last word as if it were poison that had settled on his tongue. "I saw how those two boys threw themselves at each other," he breathed, for a moment sounding a mixture of awestruck and utter disgust. "Both trying to keep their precious little _Nancy_ safe…" He glowered at Nancy and squeezed her throat tighter.

"P…please, Todd…." She struggled to draw in breath, but his hold on her throat didn't relinquish or even loosen. Black mists swirled, ebbing and flowing at the forefront of her vision.

"Maybe it's wrong. I know I'm an evil piece of shit. I saw you tonight, and I wanted all of you to suffer. People care about you. You're a cute woman, I'll give you that," he admitted, almost begrudgingly so, as he didn't want to confess it to the very detective he was about to strangle to death. "You're beautiful, and you know it, don't you, Nancy? Of course, you do. How could you not?" he whisper-hissed through gritted teeth, and Nancy's gaze drifted down to see his knuckles were white with the effort to steady himself, perhaps to prevent himself from lashing out at her in anger again. "See?" he grunted, the corners of his mouth twisting into an unkind sneer as Nancy shot him a dark look. "There's that look again. You're getting to be quite good at this, you know," he sighed, continuing his absentminded twirling of his dagger in his hands, as though bored with the turn their conversation had taken. "You're innocent. _Weak_. _Pathetic_." Todd Baines shook his head in disgust as he stared down his slender nose at her bitterly, his hulking football player build towering over her as he rose from his chair, lifting Nancy off her feet slightly, his grip upon her throat tightening even harder. The color had rapidly drained from Nancy's face, and there was no mistaking the fear in her blue eyes now. "Nobody gives a shit if I get hurt. Nobody fucking cares what happens to me," Todd growled, finally loosening his ironclad grip on Nancy's neck, just enough for her to draw in a gasping, choking, wheezing breath and let out a cry. Nancy couldn't even manage to formulate words in her head that she wanted to speak as she sucked in shaking, deep lungful's of air that pained her lungs, coughing as she gasped for air that simply wasn't there. She barely even recognized the sound of her own pathetic cries, and she couldn't get herself to stop. She just wanted all this to end, for the killings to stop. Todd cocked his head to the side and regarded Nancy in silent, waiting for her violent coughing spell to stop. Nancy reached up a trembling hand to her throat, as well as she could given that she was restrained by handcuffs.

She winced as she touched the area of her neck where Todd's hand had gripped it tight, and she knew it was going to leave marks she didn't want. "Todd..."

But Todd ignored her plea, continuing that infuriating behavior of running his hand up and along her thigh. "Did your parents ever hit you growing up?" The question was out of Todd's mouth before he could stop himself, and he knew, judging by that horrified look on the young woman's face that he already knew the answer.

He pulled up his chair closer to her and looked at her closer. Todd Baines scoffed and rolled his eyes. "No. Of course they didn't. But _ours_ did," he breathed, his one good eye narrowing, and a flicker of dark rage passed through his eye. "I bet your daddy hugged you every night. He probably hugs you." Todd grabbed Nancy's chin, cupping it in his strong hand and turned her face back towards him, slapping his other hand teasingly against Nancy's forehead. "I just can't relate to that, I'm afraid, dear thing," he sighed, almost sounding remorseful. "Your daddy wouldn't do the shit that my dad did to us growing up. Maybe he loves you _too_ much. That's a fine line to cross, you know, Miss Drew. But our father did. To Jessica. It's hard to tell what that line is when you're just a little kid, but even back then, I knew what he did to us was wrong. Our dad was an asshole," he growled, and there was that familiar fire-spark of anger in his one remaining eye, and his head swiveled almost lazily to the left to regard Nancy. "Did your daddy ever sleep in your own bed with you growing up? Tell you how…how _special_ you are? Rub his hands all over you in that way you thought was love at first," Todd Baines went on, his voice growing dangerously soft and quiet now, Nancy would have had to lean forward in her chair in order to hear him, though she couldn't, given she was hogtied to the chair. "You're the perfect target for crap like that," Todd growled angrily. "It starts out innocent enough. Words of praise. Made Jessica feel valid and important when my words weren't enough for her. Gentle hands, rubbing a little more than necessary, but harmless enough…until the day that it isn't. Then it escalated. The creep started sneaking into her room at night and…what he did to Jess was unforgivable, so I…gutted him like the monster that he is," he hissed, and he balled his hand into a fist.

The detective let out a hiss as she drew in a breath and flinched at the screaming fire burning in her ribcage, near her side from where he had punched her during his tantrum only mere moments ago. Nancy stared, feeling her mouth drop open slightly. She didn't know how to respond. "I—I'm sorry," panted Nancy, still heaving to catch her breath. "They—they shouldn't have. They were wrong to do those things to you and Jessica, Todd, b—but killing all these people…it won't change what happened to you. Stop this now, and you can still be saved."

"SHUT UP!" bellowed Todd, the last of his patience leaving him at last and he lashed out at the wall behind Nancy's head, his fist strong enough that it left a visible dent in the wood. Nancy let out a tiny squeak of terror and clenched her eyes shut tight. This was it. Her end.

Todd let out a small growl and his hand drifted towards the back of Nancy's skull, finding purchase in her thick red tresses. He yanked her hair back roughly, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from Nancy as he tugged. She opened her mouth to say something else to Baines in a last-ditch effort to reach him, but a flash of yellow out of the corner of her eye and the tumble of movement had grabbed her attention. She sucked in a sharp breath and froze.

Jessica stood just behind Todd. "Stop." It was a command, her voice quiet and shy. "Todd. Stop. Please. It's over."

Todd's gaze widened, a muscle in his jaw twitching, and a vein in his one good seemed to spasm as he turned around, letting out a low warning growl from the back of his throat. "Jess," he growled darkly. "Turn around. Go back," he snapped. "Get the hell out of here."

"No." her answer was firm, though it warbled slightly, and it sounded like Jessica Baines' voice lacked the conviction to sell the argument she really wanted to make. "I'm not leaving you, Todd. You _know_ this isn't right. Greg's dead," she announced, more for Nancy's benefit than Todd's, and Nancy felt her heart sink to her chest. "I told you once…I'm not going let you destroy yourself anymore. I wish…" Her voice cracked as she fought back tears, turning away for a moment to compose herself before she turned back towards her older brother. "I only wish…that I could have told you sooner. This isn't _you_. There's still time for you if you turn yourself in. You can fight this," she urged, lifting her chin slightly, brushing her blonde hair over her shoulders and lifting her chin slightly so she was almost at eye-level with her older brother. "Fight it."

Nancy bit her bottom lip hard enough to bleed as Todd's towering form began to shake, almost uncontrollably, and her blue eyes widened as she watched his younger sister embrace him in a hug, not saying a word, and she could almost sense the inner war and conflict currently waging war within Todd's mind. A stab of pity pierced at her heart.

_All his life, all he's ever wanted was to protect his sister_, she thought sadly. _He doesn't give a damn about anything else now that Greg's gone_. and a flash of black caught her eye out of the corner of her eye, and her head whiplashed upwards and she felt the tension in her shoulders leave her almost rapidly as her eyes landed on Frank, whose dark eyes widened and then she watched as he breathed an inaudible sigh of relief at still seeing her alive. He rose a finger to his lips, signaling for Nancy to be quiet. Nancy gave a curt little nod, and then her gaze drifted upwards towards an unfamiliar looking man standing just behind Frank, though there was no mistaking that jacket or the gun belt the man wore around his waist. Nancy drew in a sharp intake of breath that pained her bruised and probably cracked ribs at this point as she realized they needed to keep Todd talking. Jessica saw this.

"Todd, i—it's not too late to walk away. We can flee," breathed Jessica, reaching up a trembling hand to brush back a lock of his light brown hair out of his one good eye, which had, Nancy noted, fallen in front of his eye, conveniently acting as a barrier between himself and the rest of the world, shielding his vision from whatever it was he didn't want to see, as she stepped in between Nancy's chair and Todd, effectively using herself as a shield, the only barrier for Nancy between life and certain death.

Nancy couldn't resist adding in her own two cents. "You can fight…_that_," she added, seeing how badly the man was shaking. He was seeming to struggle to rein in his effort to control himself and losing horribly. "Whatever is happening to you, you're stronger than this. Please don't do this. We—we can still save you."

"_Shut_. _Up_." His body continued to shake and he balled his hands into fists to prevent himself from striking out at something in anger. A beat. A pause. "A word of advice. you _really_ don't want to upset me right now. Or I'll stab you in the throat, you nosy, meddling bitch. Shut your mouth. Stop making noise. Don't say another word."

The young detective pursed her lips together into a thin line and bit down on her bottom lip, but she couldn't stop her own bout of trembling or the soft whimper that escaped her throat. She tried to focus on a spot on the wood behind Todd's head, instead of on her own fears but she was failing horribly.

Todd's gaze drifted towards Nancy, and then back to Jessica. He repeated this a few more times before Nancy could almost see the sudden shift in his personality as he seemed to feel something shift within himself. Nancy let out a little whimper of fear as he took a huge stride forward and knelt at Nancy's chair, so he was at eye-level with the young detective. "I mean it, Miss Drew," he growled, reaching out and grabbing Nancy's arm in a fist and gave it a hard squeeze, as if to emphasize his point. "I'll kill you. And I'll kill all your little friends if you breathe a word of this. No one will ever know it was me if you force my hand and make me kill all of you. Jessica and I are leaving now. Not a damn word to anyone, understand?"

Just as quick as before, Nancy nodded again, letting out a muffled squeak of approval.

"None of that happened," Todd growled, seemingly not even hearing the cop sneak up behind him, slowly inching his way across the wooden barn's loft floor, careful not to allow the floorboards to creak and give away his position. "When the cops come," Nancy bit her lip even harder, struggling to keep her eyes trained on Todd and not on the River Heights cop, who had raised his gun and was waiting for the opportune moment to take his larger opponent by surprise, "and they will come, if you explain the…wound in your leg, and bruises on your back, and your eye…whatever. We don't care," Todd snarled, "make something up. If you tell the cops or anyone else what happened to you, that I did it, I will find you, and trust me, princess, you won't like what happens to you when I do," he growled through clenched teeth.

"Todd, _please_," begged Nancy, feeling tears well in her eyes, stinging and burning in her vision. "Th—there's still time for you to change." She shirked away, as far back as her back would allow as he brought the tip of his silver dagger and pressed it delicately, but firmly at her throat, just hard enough to enforce his intended message, what happened to her if she were to tell the cops what had happened here. "We can…we can still save you," she breathed, and immediately she knew she had made a huge mistake.

Nancy watched, horrified, as Todd's face blanched and almost immediately drained of color and he drew back, looking as though Nancy had slapped her.

"_There's nothing left of me to save_!" he roared, and that was when all hell broke loose. Shouting rent the tense atmosphere, and Nancy didn't know who was screaming what, if that voice was Frank or Todd, but Nancy was trapped and given no time to react as his hand lowered and he made a move to plunge his dagger into the side of her thigh, and it made a satisfying squish as the tip of his blade sank deep enough to make his latest victim scream. He twisted the blade in his hands, all the while sinking it deeper, and Todd yanked his now crimson-stained knife out of Nancy's thigh.

Her cry was a brilliant sound, guttural chokes mixed with a heart-wrenching agonized scream that brought Frank running to her side immediately. "Jesus, Nan! Don't look at it, I—it's going to be okay," he swore under his breath, rushing to catch Nancy as she collapsed out of her wooden chair, cushioning the worst of her fall as she felt the strength in her legs leave her. "I…you…you're going to be fine, Nance, you'll see. I promise," Frank whispered into the shell of her ear, tenderly brushing back a lock of her hair and gently rocking her back and forth, trying what he could to distract his crush from the agonizing throbbing and burning in her leg. One quick glance at it was more than enough. It was just a flesh wound, but enough and deep enough that it was undoubtedly going to scar, but she needed a hospital and fast.

Todd smirked, turning away as her pleas for mercy became fainter, the sweet tang of blood tingling in his nostrils. He turned away, reached out for Jessica, and a shot was fired, and a horrible ringing filled Nancy's eardrums as her consciousness swirled in black mists, her head pounding, muffled screaming vibrating in the barn's lofts, startling a few crows in the process who had settled, perched on top of the rafters. Even the passage of the light slowed, and the sounds became as if underwater. Aside from the beat of Nancy's heart, no muscle moved as she felt Frank stiffen, wrapping his arms around her waist, using the wall of the barn's loft as a brace to support himself. That pounding inside beat a rhythm to the words of Todd's unexpected take-down, the cold steel Todd's judge and jury.

The bullet entered the man's left leg as if it were nothing, just meat, blood bones, blasting a cavity in his knee as it burst crimson into the fading light of the loft. His face was frozen, eyes open, mouth slack, as he was propelled backward. His gaze held Jessica's and in those fractions of seconds the man that had once been her brother was there and then the next, reduced to a crumpled mess on the ground.

The officer from River Heights holstered his weapon and, immediately seeing Nancy hold out her hands, he sprang into action and released her. "I'll be taking those, miss," he said, his tone clipped and hard as he glanced down at her red wrists with an immense look of disgust. The cop glanced down at Nancy's thigh, which had, for now, ceased to bleed so much, thanks to Frank and Nancy's hands both pressed over the wound's entry point to stop the bleeding as much as they could. "Doesn't look too bad," he murmured quickly, to which Frank breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Just a flesh wound. Bet that hurts like hell though," the police officer sympathized. At that, he glanced back towards Todd and furrowed his dark brows into a frown. His gaze darted briefly back towards Nancy and Frank, both of whom were eyeing the River Heights cop with mixed expressions of awe and bewilderment. "I don't shoot to kill unless there's no other choice…."

_Good man_, Nancy thought, and felt her heart swell with relief and pride for this man. He had saved their lives, and she made a mental note to thank the cop at her earliest convenience after all this was over. He was handsome enough, Nancy supposed, and as he stepped further into the light, Nancy recognized him as one of the guys on Chief McGinnis's team. Nancy winced and gingerly rubbed her wrists as the cop relieved her of her restraints. She watched through blurring vision as the cop turned towards Todd Baines, who had collapsed on the floor, panting heavily, the leg of his jeans staining red with garish blood.

"You're under arrest, Baines. Got a lot of people outside who've been looking for you a _long_ time. Hands up where I can see them, asshole. You try anything _stupid_ like that again, I _will_ shoot to kill, test me again and see what happens for yourself. Move it," he growled, yanking Todd to his feet with surprising force, more than Nancy thought possible of him, given Baines outweighed the young police officer by at least twenty pounds. But…there was something in his eyes Nancy recognized. Defeat. Fully having expected Baines to resist, she watched, slightly awestruck as he gingerly raised both hands in surrender where the River Heights cop could see them, and it was then that the young detective noted Todd seemed to have eyes only for his sister, not anyone else.

Not Frank. Not Nancy. Not the police officer currently arresting him. Just Jessica. In his sister's hysterical wailing as the cop dragged him out of the barn and towards the flashing blue and red lights outside, which Nancy only just now took note of, she realized the sister's heart was breaking. Neither she nor Todd would ever be the same, not after this. They wouldn't be the same again, there was a part of both siblings that had to die so the rest of them would be able to carry on with life.

So, as she watched Jessica Baines sink to the damp ground outside as Nancy craned her neck up and peeked over the open barn window, her tears flowing unchecked as she watched the Casston Police Department and what looked like a black FBI van cart Todd Baines off, there was a part of Nancy breaking too. If Jessica wasn't the same, then neither would Todd be. That was what happened when you loved someone, Nancy knew, as she remembered what Hannah always used to tell her growing up. That their happiness was a part of your own, as was their heartbreak. Both siblings' lives were now drastically changed forever.

Though life for Todd, Nancy knew, would be spent behind bars for the rest of his natural life. She was honestly surprised the cop hadn't shot to kill, and she glanced at Frank, though her vision was rapidly fading. "Nan?" he asked at last, his tone laced with concern as he draped one of her arms over his shoulder, helping her to stand. "You okay to walk to the car? Let's…let's get you to a hospital, Nance. You need emergency medical care."

His face was white, far too pale to be considered healthy, even for Frank.

"I'm…good…" she rasped out weakly, closing her eyes and leaning against Frank for support, trusting him to lead them both in the right direction. Walking with her eyes closed was comfortable. Nancy knew Frank would keep her from running into anything. Nancy drew in a sharp breath as the cold night air blasted her cheeks and the wind tousled her red hair into buoyant curls. The detective stared down at her sneakers as she walked, and then her gaze wandered towards her wrists. They were rubbed raw from where the metal of the handcuffs had dug into her skin during her futile effort to free herself.

Why had she struggled so much? She didn't even manage to free herself, and now the skin on her wrists was practically gone and tender to the touch. Nancy winced and hissed as her fingertips gingerly grazed the markings on her left wrist. She let out a startled cry of surprise as Frank swiftly but firmly smacked her hand away.

"Don't touch it, Nan, you're hurt," Frank admonished, though not unkindly. His grip on her shoulder tightened as she felt her footing stagger. Nancy hadn't realized how dizzy and thirsty she was. It had been useless to try to fight the Black Lake Killer. She just wished these damn markings would go away. She had not asked for any of this. She wanted nothing more than to leave Maine behind forever. To leave and never come back. Forget any of this ever happened.

"Hey…" Frank whispered tenderly. "You all right, Nance?"

Nancy shook her head, letting a lock of her red hair tumble in front of her face like a curtain, hoping to shield her tears from Frank, but with one swift movement of his thumb and forefinger he had brushed it back behind her ear where it belonged. She bit her bottom lip and fought down a half-choked sob.

Frank stopped walking, grasping her hands lightly onto Nancy's shoulders and bent down slightly to look the young woman in the eyes. "Nan? Talk to me, Nance. What's wrong?"

"I—it's just…" Her face crumpled as she looked at her wrists, and never mind the screaming throbbing of her leg where Todd Baines had stabbed her, for God's sake! "H—how am I going to explain these to others? T—to Dad a—and Bess and George? And…Ned," she finished, though she didn't say his name.

If hearing her say his best friend's name and her ex now bothered him, he did not show it. Instead, Frank nodded in understanding. "Just don't. Don't tell them if you want. Just say only want you want to, yeah? I'll be right with you the whole time by your side. Trust me, Nan, I'm not going anywhere," he promised, reaching up a shaking hand to brush a lock of her red hair back behind her ear and smiled.

Nancy, without thinking anything of it, instinctively reached for his hand and gave it a tight squeeze.

"You're stuck with me, Drew," he said, his tone hopeful, though Nancy knew there was more behind it. Frank was an emotional man, as much as he liked to tease everyone and claim that he wasn't.

It was one of many things she liked about him.

She felt her breathing rate increase as they drew towards a Casston local police car, where it appeared the officer was just finished talking with Jessica Baines, whose eyes were red-rimmed from crying and had now cocooned herself in a thick blanket, courtesy of one of the other cops who had arrived on scene.

Nancy exhaled shakily. She'd hoped to spot some sign of the River Heights cop so she could say thank you and find out what he was doing all the way out in Maine, but she soon realized it was a different man. Older, grizzled slightly, one who looked like he'd been around a few decades and seen things.

"Excuse me, you two…What's your name, ma'am?" He furrowed his brow into a frown and tipped his hat in acknowledgement as Nancy limped forward, stifling a cry of pain as it still hurt to walk, and there was the matter of the festering wound in both her leg and her wrists were screaming for a salve and bandages. "You okay?" When Nancy did not answer immediately, he pressed her further. "Ma'am?"

Nancy felt her breath catch in her throat. She couldn't bring herself to answer, not after what she had just been through. She kind of wanted to lie, which was a first. Use a fake name. She felt like she was about to get in trouble, and none of this made any sense. All she wanted to do was to sleep and go back home. She wanted nothing more than to let Frank take her on a date, when all of this calmed down.

Luckily for her, sensing her discomfort, Frank took a careful step forward, one hand never leaving Nancy's waist, and the movement brought her forward to. "This is Nancy Drew, sir. She's the girl who went missing a few hours ago." The pair of amateur detectives watched as the cop smiled nervously and exhaled a deep breath, removing his hat and running a hand through his dirty blond hair in relief.

"Thank fu—I mean, thank God," he breathed, quickly correcting himself as he no doubt saw the dirty look Frank was giving him. "We got the call about an hour ago. Thank God we found you before anything happened. I'm glad you two are safe. We been looking for our Black Lake Killer a _long_ time. You got any family we can call for you, let them know you're safe? First things first, we gotta get you to a hospital, and then I think it's a good idea if you come down to the station, Miss Nancy Drew."

Nancy shook her head and had been about to open her mouth to violently protest, that she didn't want to go to a hospital, but at the gentle touch of Frank's hand upon her shoulder, she felt her shoulders sag in defeat. "Fine," she grumbled, swallowing nervously and climbing as best she could back into the cruiser.

The detective wanted to feel relieved, but she knew a lot of questions were coming. Difficult ones. Dread crept down her spine like a careful spider leaving a trail of silk. She felt her feet on her skin, descending until she was frozen to her seat in the backseat of the police cruiser. Her stomach felt full of lead, her mind worryingly empty. All Nancy could do was hope things slipped into place when she took the hot seat, when finding the answers mattered. And then, her anxiety almost seemed to evaporate as she felt Frank's hand drift toward her lap and settle there. The cop put the car into drive and started towards the hospital.

Frank, sensing she needed comfort, pulled her close and allowed her to rest her head on his shoulder. "I'm right here, Nance. I'm not going anywhere. I promise," Frank whispered, leaning over, brushing a lock of her hair over her shoulder so he could murmur it into the shell of her ear, and then, he did something bold, but something he had wanted to do for the longest time. Looking into Frank Hardy's eyes, Nancy saw deep pools that displayed his very soul. His lips touched her cheek. Time stopped. Her heart gave a few flutters before coming to a complete halt. Her breath caught in her throat.

Their fingers locked together, like puzzle pieces. _A perfect fit_, Nancy thought wildly. _It was never like this with Ned_. As the soft skin of his mouth left the side of Nancy's face, the exact spot where they had come into contact burned and tingled. A hot blazing fire pulsed through Nancy's entire body, warming her. A tiny grin crept onto her face and her cheeks flushed a bright pink. Frank pulled away silently, but their eyes locked, having a private conversation of their own.

Somehow, Nancy knew, as long as she was with Frank, everything was going to be okay.


	22. The Hardest Part

**Author's Note**: I've really enjoyed writing this story. 1 more chapter to go and then I look forward to posting the sequel to this story next week. I will be doing 2 chapters a week for that story, posted on Tuesdays and Saturday's. It's definitely lighter in tone, with a different kind of villain this time, so I'm looking forward to seeing how it plays out for Nancy and Frank as they begin to explore their newfound relationship :) .

* * *

Nancy _really_ hated this. She shivered, clutching herself as it was cold in here. She jerked upright, panicked, but her wrists refused to move. Something sharp and cold dug into her skin. She looked down groggily, the effects of whatever Baines had drugged her with was slowly beginning to wear off and saw that there were handcuffs holding her hands to the table. She bit her tongue, feeling an odd coldness on her tongue and that was when the door opened and slammed shut, making the young woman jump with the only little slack that she had. The grizzled detective in front of her was looking worn, his face lined and careworn.

"Evening, ma'am. Name's Detective Warren. Assigned to our Black Lake killer's case. Been working this case for the last two years. I won't hurt you, but not many have escaped his clutches _alive_. I am here to interrogate you. Do you understand?" He clamped a cigarette between his jaws and folded his arms across his chest. Nancy nodded slowly, her brain working on overdrive to process all the information.

"_Handcuffs_? Is this necessary? I haven't done anything wrong, detective! I want my phone call if you're going to treat me this way. Right now," she demanded huskily, giving a rather harsh tug of her wrists to try to slip out of her restraints, and she flinched. The skin was still rubbed raw from where Todd had handcuffed her, and she'd fought to get out of it, and now, this added measure of 'precaution' wasn't helping matters. In fact, such a gesture was only making things worse for herself.

"They're necessary so you don't hurt yourself, ma'am," came his curt answer, crankily so, as he sat himself in the chair opposite to her. Nancy stayed silent, not sure what to think of this news. "What's your name?" When Nancy did not answer him, he grew even more cross. "Tell. Me." he repeated sternly. Nancy felt coldness envelope her, but no darkness came. The man called Warren broke her cuffs and wrapped his large hands around the girl's throat and squeezed. "TELL ME!"

She wanted to, but she couldn't very well do that with his hands at her throat. Nancy coughed and spluttered as he raised her off the ground, and black spots swirled at the front of her vision. Just as her vision went blurry, two uniformed men came in, and Detective Warren dropped Nancy to the ground. He was led out by an officer while she collapsed back into the cold metal chair, panting for breath. The cop who was left to supervise came to Nancy's aid, removing her handcuffs.

"You okay, ma'am?" he mumbled, his face reddening as he looked towards the door. He reached up a hand and sheepishly scratched at an itch behind his ear as he threw his steno pad on the interrogation table. "I…apologize for Warren's outburst. I hope he didn't hurt you. He's been lead detective on this case for a long time, and…the latest victim, the counselor, that little girl Alice, the kid was his granddaughter, so he's a little shook up over it. But we caught the bastard."

There were a thousand retorts burning on the tip of her tongue, just begging to be released. Nancy wanted to ask the cop where the police were when all of these murders first started happening, why it had taken them years to catch Todd, and the man responsible for catching Baines wasn't even one of their own, but instead an out-of-state police officer from River Heights, Illinois.

She was fairly certain Casston's chief of police, if the man was anything like Chief McGinnis back home, wouldn't like that little fact. Nancy nodded mutely, gingerly clutching her ribcage as she heaved trying to catch her breath.

"It's fine," she panted, sitting up straighter in her chair as the cop took the chair opposite from her. This one at least seemed kinder than the last one had. But still, she hated it here. It felt wrong. "Can't Frank come in?" she pleaded as the cop, who introduced himself as Reggie, got himself settled and placed a bottle of water in front of her. Out of all the times to talk to a cop, why did she have to talk alone? Her father was all the way back in Maine and very well couldn't serve as her lawyer states away. Then again, she had to remind herself, these guys just wanted to talk. To get her side of the story. Not accuse. The cop, she realized, and the rest of the others on the town's payroll, were just doing their jobs, and this guy's job right now was to question Nancy and get her side of the story directly.

"I'd just like to talk with you for now, Miss Drew. You're not in trouble." Reggie forced a smile that didn't quite meet his green eyes. In fact, he looked to Nancy like he was ticked. "Your boyfriend is right outside. I just need your version of what happened in the barn tonight, everything to start out, ma'am."

Nancy swallowed past the lump forming in her throat and looked down at the water bottle. She was thirsty, and her throat felt scratchy and dry, and an hour ago she'd wanted nothing more than a simple drink. But now as she looked at the bottle, it almost felt like a trap. She recognized she was at the Casston Police Department, and they certainly weren't going to poison her or drug her like Todd Baines had.

Reggie laced his fingers together and regarded the broken young woman in front of him. "Can I get you anything else? You hungry? I think we got some donuts and bagels in the lounge if you're hungry. You look like you've not eaten in at least a day. Is it warm enough in here for you? You're kind of shaking, ma'am. Do you have blood sugar dips, by any chance? Want me to go get you one?"

"N—no," she stammered, folding her arms across her chest so that her now-bandaged hands were over her upper arms. "I—it's just been a long night, Officer. One I wasn't sure I was going to survive."

"No need for you to be scared," the cop piped up reassuringly, offering her a smile and hoping it was genuine. "I'm just here to get the truth from you, that's all. I promise you, ma'am, that you're not in trouble. We just want to hear what happened. We got him. But in order to put him behind bars for life, we need the whole story. We got the sister's statement, that Hardy fellow's, and even got a call earlier from a guy named Nickerson, says he knows you, and now we just need yours. Shouldn't take long, miss."

Nancy let out a tiny sigh and shivered, wrapping the blanket the cop had given her tighter around herself, letting the thing drape loosely over her shoulders as she chanced a glance towards the one-way mirror. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that Frank was standing on the other side of the glass.

Though she couldn't see him, she could sense his presence. And right now, she needed for him to be sitting next to her, though she knew her request was going to be denied, that did not stop her from asking. "Can't Frank come in?" she pleaded. "I—if he doesn't say anything, can he just…sit next to me?"

But Reggie was shaking his head no. "Sorry, Miss ah…Drew is it?" he added, scrunching his nose and glancing down at the steno pad in front of him. "Um. Nancy is that right? But people call you Nan?"

"Only friends and family," corrected Nancy immediately, a tremor of cold going down her spine and she shivered. She bit her bottom and lip and stared blankly at the bottled water in front of her. She had to start telling the cop the truth. "The truth," she whispered. "About Todd. Who he is…" Nancy knew she was going to look like she was covering for him if she didn't speak up, and fast. "I…he took me," she whispered hoarsely, and then, remember the man's last words to her, was quick to correct herself. "B—but he didn't… he didn't hurt me," she added softly, as Baines' threat lingered in her mind, refusing to part from her thoughts. If she told the truth, how he had almost strangled her to death, and this next part was a very big if, if he was ever released from prison one day (highly unlikely, but then stranger things had happened to Nancy) then Todd Baines would most assuredly come after her, Frank, her friends and family. No. That she could not allow. "I—I swear," she breathed, hating the tremor laced in her voice.

The police officer quirked a brow at Nancy and folded his arms across his chest. His scrutinizing gaze drifted down towards her arms and at the rapidly developing bruise that was already starting to purple underneath her eye. "You have an awful lot of cuts and bruises on your arms. How did you get them?"

Nancy felt the heat creep to her cheeks, and she could ignore the scratching sensation in her throat no longer and she shakily reached for the water bottle, undoing the cap with trembling fingers. "I…Frank and I were walking in the woods in the dark. I fell down a lot. Ran into branches, trees, you know how it goes when you're in the woods. I—I slipped. It was dark out, I couldn't see, rocks, branches, trees…"

"Oh?" he asked, narrowing his green eyes. Reggie leaned over the interrogation table and his fingertips grazed Nancy's neck, to which she immediately shirked back from his gentle touch, her back resting against her chair as far as she could go.

"Don't," she pleaded, inhaling a sharp breath that pained her lungs. Before she could even fathom what she was doing, she reached up and slapped Reggie's hand away. "I—I'm sorry," she apologized, as soon as she saw the all-too familiar flicker of anger pass through the cop's eyes. "I—I didn't mean to…"

Reggie's lips pursed into a pencil-thin narrow line and he gave a curt nod, forcing an obviously faked smile, though Nancy could read this man like a book. It was in his eyes. Nancy wished he had kept his trance at the spot on the wall behind her.

The young detective knew that deliberation was over for him. He had judged her already, and in the cop's eyes she saw only misunderstanding and a cool hatred.

"It's okay," the police officer breathed, feeling his shoulders sag as he settled back in his chair. "Listen to me, Miss Drew…I need you to be straight with me. Whatever he said to you to make you scared, forget his words. We got him. He's behind bars, and he won't be going anywhere. He'll spend the rest of his life in the state prison. I realize you know that Todd Baines did that to you. There's no point in trying to pretend otherwise." The cop hesitated, running his hands through his tuft of dark hair and fixing Nancy with a glare. "I get it. Baines is a frightening guy. He's scary. But I'm not him, you got that, Miss Drew?"

The cop reached over and grabbed Nancy's hand, squeezing her right hand a little tighter than what would have supposed to have been reassuring. Nancy flinched, saying nothing, and he let go of her. Nancy jerked her hand back, tenderly rubbing it. The gauze the nurse at the hospital that had applied it was starting to loosen, but maybe once she got out of here, Frank could tighten it for her. He was good at tending wounds. She swallowed nervously and glanced up at Reggie, who took a sip of coffee from his mug. The way his eyes squinted when the cop glared at Nancy reminded her of a pit viper's slit-like pupils. She gulped a swig of her water nervously. A burning animosity was developing in the police officer's green orbs, and Nancy could tell she was likely the root cause of the problem right now.

But still, she couldn't bring herself to talk about it. It was all too fresh. She just wanted to sleep.

"You can trust me, Miss Drew. I'm an officer of the law, I'm on your side. It's my job to help people. So you have to tell me what Baines did to you, and it has to be the truth," he growled, leaning over the table and squinting his eyes at the markings Todd's strong fingers had made around her throat.

Nancy swallowed another sip of water, all the while actively avoiding the police officer's piercing gaze that felt like it was burning a hole in her skull. She really wished Dad was here. She didn't want to answer any more questions, though she knew that as a victim she wouldn't get in trouble tonight, but…

She was also the victim here, and she doubted she was going to get in trouble if she refused to talk. The cop seemed to sense her hesitation and stifled a low growl from the back of his throat. "Those are finger markings on your neck, Miss Drew, and that bruise underneath your eye looks mighty painful. Doesn't take a genius to guess that our boy hit you while he had you cooped up in that barn of his, am I right?" When Nancy did not answer, the cop continued pressing the young woman. "Protecting someone, a serial killer no less, who hurt you is just going to make things worse, yeah? Especially if you're called to testify what happened to you in a court of law, it's going to look back, Miss Drew. For _your_ sake. _Don't_. If Baines threatened you, you gotta let me know. There's no need for you to protect that creep, Miss Nancy."

At his words, Nancy bolted from her chair and backed herself further against the wall, pretty much into a corner. Why was this cop cornering her in an interrogation room and treating her like she was a suspect, an accessory to Todd Baines' crimes?

She wondered briefly if he had done the same to Jessica, questioned her until the point that she broke and did whatever the cop told her to do. Coercion. Surely, he realized she wasn't a criminal, right? "Get away from me! I already told you and your friends at the scene everything I know. I—I invoke the fifth!" whisper-hissed Nancy desperately through clenched teeth, back pressed against the wall. Every muscle bone and fiber in her body ached and screamed for relief, to sleep, but she couldn't. Reggie slowly raised his hands in defense. "Why am I being detained? You know this isn't right. I—I want a phone call. I'm calling my lawyer, Officer!"

"Nancy, I swear, I'm not trying to scare you. What you've been through tonight, no one should ever have to go through that, but you gotta start talking to me."

An angry shout rent the air that rendered both Nancy and the Casston police officer frozen to their respective spots. Both swiveled their heads towards the door. The knock came quietly first, and then there was silence, save for the occasional murmuring of Frank Hardy's voice talking in low tones to someone.

The knock came again, louder and faster this time. Nancy stood next to Reggie, who stared at the door, un-moving. "Nancy?" came a voice, a man's, and Nancy's ears perked up as she heard a sound that was unexpectedly comforting—her father's voice. "Nance, honey? You in there, baby girl? It's Dad. Let me in, sweetheart, I can hear voices…" Carson Drew knocked against the door, then yanked it open.

"Oh, Dad," Nancy croaked hoarsely, feeling fresh tears well in her eyes. She hadn't realized how much she missed her father and how much she needed him here. Nancy all throughout the trip up here had been worried what her father would think of her putting her own life in danger to catch a serial killer.

Asking too many questions, asking the right questions to the wrong people, being ticked at her for getting into this mess, for not letting the proper authorities deal with this. But in the moment, she only wanted her father to hug her tight, to hold her, be overprotective. Carson Drew strode into the room, Frank hovering by the door, his arms folded across his chest and a grim expression on his face. He walked up to Nancy slowly and pulled his daughter closer to him wrapping his arms around her. His embrace was warm, and his arms seemed very protective when wrapped around Nancy's frail, healing body. The world around Nancy melted away as she squeezed him back, not wanting the moment to end. Her dad, a well renowned attorney in his early forties, and still quite handsome with dark hair and kind green eyes behind a pair of black-rimmed glasses, was currently looking very upset.

"What are you doing here, Dad?" she whispered, tightening her grip around her father's middle.

"Frank called me a few days ago, asked me to catch the earliest plane I could. Told me what was happening."

Nancy snuggled in, "You're the only person I know that gives indefinite hugs."

Her father snickered, "Well, Nance, where else would I rather be?" In that moment the arms squeezed a fraction tighter and Nancy breathed more slowly, her body melting into her dad's as every muscle lost its tension now that help was here. _This_ was life, real life, and she was headed for home. She craned her neck upward to look at her father, but she saw to her surprise her father was glowering at the police officer. One glance over at Reggie was more than enough. Nancy bit her lip to suppress her urge to break into laughter. She knew what the cop saw when he looked at Carson. Everybody always thought the same thing. Carson Drew was fitter looking than anyone expected. His face told of a lean body beneath his black business suit and his expression behind his black-rimmed glasses was serious but not unkind. He had that beginning look of salt and pepper look that was beginning to fleck to his dark hair as he aged, against his still youthful skin it looked good on him.

Nancy drew in a sharp breath, steeling herself for one of her father's outbursts.

"How dare you?" Carson accused, glaring directly at Reggie. "Can't you see my daughter has been through enough? She's lucky to be alive after the ordeal this Baines character put her through, and you want to traumatize her even further? How dare you take her in here, all alone without me being present. I'm a lawyer," he added coldly, seeing the look of dawning confusion in the cop's eyes as he opened his mouth to retort. "You're questioning her like she's some sort of…criminal," he growled. "She barely managed to escape with her life after being held against her will by a serial killer, Officer…?" He fell silent and waited.

"Newall, sir," the police officer answered stiffly.

"I'm fine, Dad," Nancy spoke up softly, still allowing her father to keep his arms around her shoulders.

"With all due respect, sir, your daughter is covered in bruises and cuts. I know our guy did this to her, but she won't talk. I gotta get to the bottom of this and having other people present in the room leads to a lot of witnesses and victims alike withholding vital information that will allow us to put this guy behind bars for good. That's why I wanted to talk to Miss Drew alone. Lawyer or not, Mr. Drew, with all due respect, you need to leave," growled the cop, taking a step towards the father and daughter.

Carson instinctively pulled Nancy back, stepping in front of her and holding out a hand in front of her to prevent her from taking another step forward. When he spoke his next words to the cop, his words were cold enough that even Nancy shivered.

"_No_. Just look at her. She's in no condition to answer any questions right now. You will _not_ talk to my daughter like this. You cannot corner her and threaten her and demand she tell you what happened. My daughter's wounds are healing, and her conditions are causing her a great deal of stress which your…aggressive methods of questioning will only exacerbate. Now, if you will excuse me, officer, I'm going to take my daughter and her…boyfriend," here he glanced towards Nancy for confirmation, who gave the tiniest of nods and a small crooked half-smile, and then his gaze flitted to Frank, who had entered the interrogation room and was hovering behind Nancy, one hand on the small of her back and the other and he barely held back his smile as a pink blush graced his daughter's cheeks. "And we're going to go home. You've already got her statement when your men arrived on the scene, and accounts from the man's sister, as well as a statement from one of the man's other victims, a Megan Grunhild?" he added, glancing towards Nancy and Frank for confirmation, who quickly nodded. "That should suffice as evidence enough to hold up in his trial when he goes to court. Nancy, Frank, let's get out of here and head for home. Come on, you two, let's get out of here. Right _now_," he added harshly.

She knew his fire-seed of anger that had seemingly sprouted without warning was more so directed towards the cop than at Nancy or Frank, but still, sensing the irritation in his tone and seeing the agitation in his eyes behind his glasses, she hurried. Nancy, sensing danger as the cop immediately opened his mouth to argue, took a ginger step forward, despite Carson's arm still planted firmly in front of her. She peeked over his shoulder, having to stand on her tiptoes, or as well as she could given her broken ankle still rested in a cast, and the other was sprained, not to mention her poor thigh still throbbed from being stabbed, but it had been treated.

Nancy had undergone one hell of a night, however, and she just wanted it done. "I already told you everything, Officer. My dad's right, sir. You can't keep me locked up in here. I can't force you to believe what I told you was the truth, but…I've already said everything there was to tell. I haven't done anything wrong. You can't keep me here," Nancy reminded Reggie quietly, timidly.

The cop regarded the father and daughter for what felt like an eternity in an uncomfortable silence. If tension in the room would have been a color, the air would have been scarlet. Finally, he huffed and exhaled, shaking his head in disbelief. "You're right, Miss Drew. I can't keep you here, or force you to talk, but I wish you'd just tell me the truth. I know Todd Baines did those awful things to you. But you and your father are right. I can't force you. Though it would go easier for everyone if you would just say it."

"I am telling the truth." Nancy flinched as she felt the lie escape her lies. Lying went completely against her nature, unless she was faced with no other choice while on a case, and to lie to a law enforcement officer was even worse, but she wanted nothing more than to put what happened behind her forever.

Carson nodded and put his hand on his daughter's right shoulder, shooting the Casston police officer one last look of distrust as he steered her out of the interrogation room and towards the precinct's parking lot. "You're lucky you have someone like Frank watching your back," he complimented, raising his voice loud enough so Frank, who hadn't left Nancy's side once since the pair had re-emerged from the interrogation room, could hear him. He chuckled as he watched Frank's face flush at the compliment. Leaning forward just slightly and lowering his voice so only Nancy could hear, he spoke to his daughter in low tones. "I was sorry to hear about Ned, Nance," he apologized, his voice sounding pained. "Frank? Are you sure that's what you want? It won't…affect your friendships with any of the others?"

Nancy nodded mutely, instinctively reaching for Frank's hard and giving it a squeeze. "Yes. I think…I think I've known for a while now, but…didn't want to admit it to myself," she whispered timidly.

Carson returned the nod, showing his only child he understood. "Good." He turned to Frank and regarded the dark-haired young man standing protectively next to Nancy, and he did not bother to hide the small smile that crept onto his handsome but quite lined features. "Treat your woman like a queen, I always say," he said solemnly, clapping Frank on the shoulder. "Take care of my daughter, Hardy. And please…" he added, a sudden note of mock sternness twinkling in his eyes behind the lenses of his glasses, "When you come over, for the sake of Hannah and your poor old dad, Nance…keep your door open _three_ inches." His mouth was set into a hard line, though the corners of his mouth twitched, fighting a smile.

Frank looked surprised but quickly recovered. "Y—yes, sir," he stammered. "I promise."

Carson held open the car door of the taxi and gestured for the two to get in the backseat.

"Let's go home," Carson said, chuckling softly at witnessing the silent exchange between Frank and Nancy. With Frank, Carson knew, it was different for his daughter than it had ever been with Ned. The two didn't even have to communicate in words, because even now, as they sat in silence in the backseat of the cab, Nancy's head resting against Frank's chest as she slowly drifted into an easy sleep. Carson knew that that Nancy could not see the world through his eyes, and mostly it was a good thing she couldn't. She was so like her mother, seeing excitement and possibilities, whereas Carson saw a world of danger and uncertainty. She wanted to walk out of their house after dark, and why shouldn't she? Take on a serial killer? Why not. When Nancy would rail against the confines of being a woman in a world that wasn't necessarily kind to female detectives, Carson was reminded of its unfairness. To him, as her father, it was simply a reality he unquestioningly accepted. A reality he was forced to impose on her lest he wanted the risk of burying her one day, just as her had done for his wife, Kate. And he didn't. Yet, as he glanced in the review mirror at the pair now sleeping soundly in the backseat, he was filled with a newfound sense of admiration and respect for the eldest Hardy brother. He just wanted his daughter to be happy. And it would seem to Carson that she had finally found her source of happiness. In Frank. And if that were good enough for Nancy, then it would be good enough for him too.

* * *

She tried to sleep in the car ride to the airport, but visions of Baines and the others kept flashing through her mind. Her dad was saying something from the driver's seat, and she had to struggle to keep her eyes open. Nancy furrowed her brow into a frown as Carson tossed what appeared to be a draft of an article to the backseat so Nancy and Frank could take a quick look, written by none other than Lana Graham's assistant, Eve Vanderhilt. "So that's how Megan found us…"

"Have to hand it to her, sweetheart, that reporter's assistant is smoother than silk," chuckled Carson from the driver seat of their rental car. "You might not like how Miss Graham operates, but she knows her stuff. So does her partner, for that matter. She called me less than ten minutes after Frank did, gave me the scoop and told me I needed to get up here to Maine no matter what happened, and that she knew where you were being held, and I'm sorry I couldn't get to you in time to prevent that cop asking you questions." There was no mistaking the bitterness in Carson Drew's tone. Nancy knew he blamed himself. She knew that her father was thinking if he had not suggested Nancy to Helen, she wouldn't have had to endure madness at the hands of a deranged serial killer and would not have gotten hurt.

"It's _not_ your fault, Dad. There's no way you could have known what was going to happen. And we solved it, didn't we? All of us," she offered shyly, as her eyes skimmed the pages of the articles. It didn't tell her much; other than somehow the reporter had already received word Baines would be spending life in prison for what he had done. She was just grateful the woman's date hadn't shot him dead where he stood. She had seen enough blood to last the rest of her life. Nancy shivered and handed the article back. Nancy heaved a heavy sigh as she felt her cell phone vibrate and chirp deep within the confines of her now-ruined purse, and upon picking it up, she had to resist the urge to roll her eyes as she fingered the tear in the bottom of the bag, courtesy of all the branches it must have snagged on during her little trek through the wilderness. Muttering an inaudible curse to herself, she pulled out her cell phone and hit the green **'Accept'** button, holding the phone up to her ear.

"Hello?" she asked, hoping her voice was calm, though she felt quite frazzled.

Even she wasn't quite sure how much more excitement she could take.

"Nancy?" came a woman's voice, and she could tell by the way the young woman exhaled that she sounded relieved that Nancy had answered the phone. "I—I was hoping it would be you. I—it's Elizabeth. I—I mean Jessica," she stammered quickly, fumbling to correct herself. "I just…wanted to say how sorry I am. I should have never gotten you involved in this. I lied to you right from the beginning."

Nancy fell silent, not sure what to say, so she just let Jessica Baines talk. Maybe she needed to get out of her system, and the best thing she could do for her right in this moment was listen to her. After all, she had, just as Nancy and the others had been, been put through so much, perhaps possibly even more.

Jessica sighed, and Nancy could tell whatever she wanted to tell the detective was weighing on her mind. "I haven't been truthful with you from the start, but I'd like to now. I—it's my fault you got mixed up into this. The—the journal that I asked you to help me find? I lied about that, too. Captain James Baycroft was actually our great-great-great grandfather, a—and I know he was innocent of those crimes, though nobody in our family, distant or otherwise could ever prove it, so I guess in that way you could say our family name was cursed right from the very beginning."

"Was he?" Nancy found herself asking, despite her previous strong will to remain silent on the call.

"_Yes_!" breathed Jessica into the phone, and, perhaps realizing her emotions were getting the better of her, let out another tired sigh, and Nancy could almost picture Baines pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger in exhaustion. "Thought I must admit, I was wrong in having you accompany me to that lighthouse. The place has been condemned for years, and I don't know what happened to you up there to cause you to fall down those stairs, b—but I'd bet my life that place is haunted. The locals there say more accidents happen in that lighthouse as the years pass. Stupid kids you know, climbing it for a dare, trying to see if they can get that little girl's ghost to appear. Maybe _she_ was the one who pushed you down the stairs. Guess we'll never know what happened."

A beat. A pause, and Nancy waited for Jessica to continue. "All the more reason for the city to shut that place down. Maybe when I head back to the university, I can make some calls. Get that place boarded up and torn down for good. I won't have any more blood spilt on my hands. I'm so sorry, Miss Drew, for what I put you through these last few days. I—it's no secret that Todd and I come from a family with a long history of problems, a—and it was about a week or two before I called you that the murders in Casston started happening again. I…didn't want to believe it was Todd, but… the signs were there. I know my brother, Miss Drew, perhaps better than anyone else, I—I just didn't want to believe it, and I thought if I could prove that it wasn't him, th—then maybe…just maybe there was a slim chance that my brother could still be saved, somehow. That…"

But her voice trailed off and Jessica didn't complete her sentence.

"I understand," Nancy murmured softly, catching Frank's sympathetic stare out of the corner of her eye. Instinctively, without even realizing she was doing so, she felt her hand drift towards his and give it a gentle squeeze. "The important thing is Todd is behind bars, where, you might not like it, Jessica, but that's the safest place for him. Even if he were to take you and flee like he had wanted to do, do you really think the murders would have stopped? I don't know if Todd would have been able to control it."

There was a long pause, and when Jessica spoke again, it sounded like she was fighting back tears.

"I know," she whispered. "It's the best place for him. I plan to visit him at least a few times a year, when my teaching schedule allows it. I just…want to put all of this behind me, if I can, but it won't be easy."

"I know that feeling," Nancy said, and allowed the tiniest smile to curve at the edge of her lips.

"I know there's no way I can ever make up for what's happened to you during your time here in Casston, but I can try," said Jessica, and Nancy was surprised to hear the steadfast determination in her voice. "I spoke with your father who agreed to my deal, and I've already arranged the wire transfer between your bank back in River Heights and mine. You'll find a nice little chunk of change waiting for you when you get back. I hope that a settlement of $500,000 is more than enough for you to forget this. I know you won't be able to forget it, but…I hope you will use the money for something good. Buy a house, pay off debts, just save it, invest it, build a new life for yourself. I know you won't truly be able to forget, but I don't want Todd and mine's stories blasted everywhere, though the media's already gotten wind of it, so there's not much I can do in that regard, but it would mean a great deal to me and to Todd if the reporters start clamoring for interviews, don't give them one single quote. We…I…I just want to be left alone," Jessica whispered.

Nancy felt her mouth drop open and she spluttered trying to think of a retort. But none came. "_How_…?" Nancy opened her mouth to protest, to say that she did not want Jessica's money, that it was entirely too much and that she could not accept such a generous gift, but upon hearing the detective's tone shift and seemingly want to argue, Jessica Baines shut her down fast. "Miss Baines, I can't accept it!"

"Too late," came Jessica's voice. "The transfer was already initiated and complete. And before you ask, in addition to my professor salary, my family grew up quite wealthy, though we don't look it. Does that answer your questions?" her tone was slightly teasing now, which made Nancy smile just a little bit.

"It does," she breathed, feeling her eyes go wide and round at the thought of that much money waiting for her in her checking account when they got back to River Heights, and she made a mental note to put her father in charge of handling most of the money. He could put it into an investment account for her, considering she had no debts that needed paying off, and she made enough money with each new case that presented itself that she wasn't entirely sure if college was necessarily in her future. She felt like she learned plenty on her cases, and every time it seemed like she was thinking about enrolling, a new case always presented itself, thus delaying actually enrolling it. Nancy opened her mouth to say thank you, but it didn't come out. The young woman supposed she was still quite flustered and shell-shocked.

"Thanks again, Nancy," Jessica replied warmly. "For everything." And with that, the call ended. Nancy stared at her phone in her palm numbly before plunking it back into her purse, before remembering that her purse had a hole in it, and, in a moment of frustration, kicked her ruined bag to the floor by her feet.

Maybe Bess could help her buy a new one when they got home. Bess and George, she surmised as she glanced at the clock on the car's dashboard, had probably just arrived back in River Heights. A sudden flash of white came into Nancy's view on her left side, and she froze, remembering something.

"Wait, Dad. Stop here a moment, just here," came Nancy's voice, sounding urgent. She reached for her phone and shot Frank a curt little nod. "I won't be long, Dad. Five minutes. If I'm not out by then, call me," she added, plunking her cell phone into her bag and zipping it up, pinching the hole at the bottom shut with her thumb and forefinger, and threw her purse over her shoulder, all the while having to hold the bottom shut so the contents of her bag wouldn't spill out, and making a beeline straight for the city's hospital. The hospital corridor of Casston, Maine, was stuffy and the air had an unpleasant undertone of bleach. The hospital hallway has as much personality as the interstate.

The dull beige tile lead onward passed identical doorways edged in a dull gray color. The walls simply grow from the floor and stretch upward to the matching ceiling. It is a place of sickness, a place to be forgotten slowly after the initial shock of admittance. After that, it's a slow slide to the morgue, sallow eyes tilted toward a sun that remains stubbornly on the wrong side of the dirty windowpane. The walls of the patient's rooms were a dark magnolia and are scraped in places from the hundreds of trolleys that have bumped into them. The pictures on the walls are cheap benign prints of uplifting scenes and above the double doors are large blue plastic signs with the areas of the hospital that lie ahead. Nancy, with Frank in tow, weaved through the crowded hallways of doctors, nurses, and visiting family members to those who were cooped up here. Finally, they found it. The door, just like all the others in the hospital, was brown and dull, but she could already see people inside.

"Well, here we are," the nurse smiled kindly and opened the door wider.

Doctors and nurses surrounded Megan Grunhild's hospital bed, attaching IV's, heart monitors to her. Nancy decided to explore the room while the other people were still crowded the young woman. An old TV set hung from the ceiling. A window giving her the view of the world below was just beneath the screen. In the corner were two chairs, frayed with wear and tear. It was a typical hospital room, sparse and functional. Nancy and Frank dragged the two spare chairs towards Megan's bedside and stared dejectedly up at the ceiling, glancing down at the thank you gift she'd thought to buy from the hospital gift shop.

It wasn't much. Just a little 8 inch stuffed brown monkey with a Get Well Soon message scrawled on its little t-shirt, and a couple of Koko Kringles Bars and some magazines for her to read, given she was to stay here for at least a week before she could be expected to be discharged, given the scope of her injuries.

Megan blearily opened her eyes and struggled to focus her gaze a few feet in front of herself. The young blonde girl had seen better days. Dark circles were still quite prominent under her eyes and she still appeared very pale, but a little tinge of pink color had returned to her cheeks, so that was something.

"When…when did you get here? You…you must be Nancy…? Eve told me you had red hair," she managed hoarsely, gesturing towards her own head of hair and then drifted her hands downwards, curling her fingers around the heated blankets one of the nurses had draped over her lap.

Nancy perked up at the noise and sat up straighter in her chair. "Not very long ago. How are you feeling?"

"Weak, but better…thank you, Nancy."

The detective felt the heat creep to her cheeks, and she brushed away Megan's compliment with a wave of her hand. "Don't thank me. It's Eve you should be thanking and…" But she didn't get a chance to finish her sentence as the door to Megan's hospital room flung open, startling both Nancy and Frank, who whirled around in their seats to get a better look at the sudden newcomer and froze.

"Oh," Ned breathed. Nancy drew in a sharp intake of breath as she saw he was holding a simple bouquet of white lilies. His face reddened and his posture stiffened. "I…er…didn't realize you'd be here. I um…came to say goodbye to Megan."

_To Megan?!_ Nancy felt her blue eyes grow wide and round, and just for a moment, the tiniest flickers of jealousy passed through Nancy, but then, remembering Frank was by her side, she breathed out a shaking breath and relaxed.

_He certainly moved on fast_, she thought darkly. As far as awkward situations go, Nancy thought, this was definitely by far the worst one she'd suffered through yet. "Ned," she answered, cringing a little as she realized how stiff and unwelcoming she sounded. "Is that your _real_ reason for coming here, Ned?" She sounded desperate. She knew it. Ned knew it. Megan knew. And Frank knew it too. Nancy wished nothing more than for a hole to open up in the floor beneath her feet and swallow her whole, and not spit her back out until Ned was well and truly gone.

Frank glanced sideways at Nancy, sensing her embarrassment, and spoke up, saving her the trouble. "We were just here to visit Megan, but we can give you a minute if you need to be alone," he stated coldly, reaching for Nancy's hand, and was surprised when Ned waved away the offer, almost politely.

"No, no, i—it's fine," he stammered, setting aside the bouquet of flowers and stooping down slightly to take the gifts Nancy had brought for Megan and set them on her nearby little wooden bedside table. "Stay," he pleaded, and this was the first time Nancy realized it was directed to both of them, not just her.

"So, um…you two know each other?" Megan asked, her inquisitive gaze darting between the three of them. All three of them were looking awkward and uncomfortable around each other, and all of them had red eyes. Yes, there was some drama brewing between the three of them, but maybe she could help. Though she was no expert on relationship advice, it was the least she could do for Nancy Drew.

"Ah…you could say that," Nancy confessed, suddenly feeling sheepish as she reached up to tuck a lock of stray hair back behind her ear. "Um…Ned and I used to date, a—and now…we don't." There. She said it. A quick glance over at Ned, however, surprised her. He was, perhaps for the first time in a long time, looking rather calm and collected, and she didn't know what to make of this change.

"Oh." Megan's face fell and a crestfallen look overcame her pale sickly features.

Ned heaved a heavy sigh and ran his hands through his dark hair and fixed Frank and Nancy with an interesting stare. Nancy wasn't sure if it was jealousy or something else, but she had no time to dwell on it. "I was angry with you at first, Nan. And you, Frank," he growled, and there was no mistaking the tenseness in Frank's posture as he stiffened, bracing for a fight and fully prepared to step outside so as to give Megan the peace she needed to recover. The stress wasn't good for her…or for Nancy, for that matter. But something in Ned seemed to shift, and the look on his best friend (or probably former by the end of this little visit, depending on how things went) that gave Frank Hardy pause, and he fell silent, just waiting.

Ned's brow furrowed into a frown as he regarded Nancy and Ned in silence for a moment. The heat crept to his cheeks as he realized Megan was listening in, but he forsook the embarrassment in order to say what he really wanted to say. "I was pissed at you, Nan. For…a long time, always choosing your cases over me," he began hesitantly, and it did not escape the man's attention at how Frank drew in a sharp breath and his body straightened and stiffened in his chair, as if his body were going into a defensive stance if the need arose to protect Nancy. But he hoped it wouldn't come to that. "It wasn't right, but I couldn't help how I felt about how everything turned out. But after I—after we met in that café, a—and we fought…" Here, he swallowed hard and cringed, his gaze drifting towards the bruise underneath Frank Hardy's eye, all his doing. "S—sorry, Frank," he stammered. His face was fully red now. "I did some thinking. There's…."

He seemed to be struggling with whatever was on his mind, but as he lifted his chin to meet Nancy's gaze, he felt his resolve return to him, and a sudden shift give way. "There's no hard feelings, Nance, at least not on my part. Not anymore," he confessed at last. "I—it's taken a lot of me to ask of you what I did, to try to put me before your cases and I realize now that was completely selfish. Maybe I'm not the right one to have along on one of your adventures, and maybe that's true, but I just wish it hadn't taken me coming up here to Maine for me to realize that. If…if…Frank is the one who truly makes you happy, Nan, then…I won't stand in the way. If this is really what you want, then I shouldn't…I shouldn't…get in the way. I should let you live your own life. Without…me," he whispered, and he swallowed, seeming to blink back briny tears. "I value our friendship too much to let this be the thing that drives us all apart." Ned hesitated, and reached behind his right ear to scratch at an itch. He made a show of checking his watch as he stood to his feet, making a show of brushing the palms of his hands on his jacket. "I don't know how this will ah…affect things going forward," he began hesitantly as he made his way towards the door to leave. "But…at least as long as I'm in River Heights, I'd still like to be friends. With both of you," he emphasized, noticing the stupefied looks on both Nancy and Frank's faces. He swallowed hard, as though whatever was weighing on Ned's mind was causing a great internal conflict, and it showed by the way his hands shook. "I…"

"What's wrong, Ned?" Nancy encouraged gently, not wanting to trigger his temper even further, but if this was to be the last time in a while she would look into his eyes for a good long while, then…well… given their history, she wanted to make it count, and a quick glance over at Frank told the young detective he wouldn't' think any less of her for it or fault her for wanting to do such a thing.

For some reason, Nancy couldn't bring herself to tear her gaze away from Ned.

This was it, the defining moment. Both knew, at least for a good long while, this would be the last time the two would really, truly, look at one another for a long time. Nancy swallowed hard past the lump forming in her throat, fighting tears.

"Goodbye, Ned," she whispered. Ned gave a curt nod, coughing once to fight back his own onset of tears.

"Take care of Nan, Frank. Nance. Maybe I'll see you around sometime. Megan, take care of yourself. I hope you get better soon. Call me sometime, won't you? I still owe you that breakfast, don't I? Well…I—I'd better go. Later guys, I'll see you around," he said gruffly, and abruptly turned away out of Megan's hospital room.

Nancy watched him go, and sat rooted to her chair, staring at the space where Ned had stood in the doorway only moments ago before finally tearing her gaze away from the door, quickly brushing away the last remnants of tears with a practiced flick of her finger. The detective returned her attention to Megan, who, if she wasn't mistaken about these things, and she usually wasn't, was looking sympathetic. Nancy coughed once to clear her throat and quell the frog that had formed in her throat and she tossed her red hair over her shoulders. "Well…we can't stay long," she mumbled, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks as she felt Frank's gaze. "But we just…wanted to stop in and make sure you were okay before going home."

Megan nodded tiredly. "They're saying I can go home in another day or two, but they want to keep me overnight for a few days to make sure nothing else is wrong," she breathed, her fingers curling into tight fists over the heated blanket one of the nurses had draped over her lap. "It was awful," she said, shuddering.

Nancy knew this was an already sensitive subject, and she didn't want to pry and make things worse for the young woman, but her curiosity was just killing her now.

_Besides_, her conscience reasoned. _Maybe talking it over with me will help…. _

"What happened?" Nancy encouraged gently, not unkindly, seeing how Megan was fumbling to reach the glass of ice water that was perched on her nightstand, immediately reached out a hand and gave it to her. "Can you tell you tell me?"

The young blonde gave a meek little nod after swallowing a few sips of water through the straw in the glass. "I did what he said, Nancy," she said in a tiny voice.

"What did he do?" she pressed, careful to mind her tone. Of course, she wanted Megan to open up and talk about it in her own way, but she also wanted the truth.

"He took me at the fair. Troy, my—my old boyfriend," here she breathed the word in just barely above a whisper and both Frank and Nancy had to strain to hear her, "I was walking down the sidewalk. Troy had already left for home after the carnival was over." Megan blushed and looked down at her lap, fiddling with her fingers. "Anyways, I—I did what he told me to. I ran at first, tried to fight him."

Nancy noticed how Megan's voice was weaker than normal, almost strained. She met Megan's gaze and noticed how scared her eyes looked, darting this way and that.

Almost as if she expected Baines himself to pop out from behind the hospital room's door, or out of the bathroom or closet or something. Megan stuck out her lower lip in a slight pout and continued. "I—I didn't want him taking my purse, but he had a freaking axe, Nancy, so I let him take whatever he wanted, hoping he'd go."

"Did he take anything?" Nancy asked, already knowing full well the answer. Todd didn't strike her as the type to commit burglaries. He was interested in her.

Megan shook her head. "No. I stopped fighting him, even though I wanted to keep doing it. It's _my_ purse, _not_ his," she whispered, casting an almost affectionate glance towards her pink Angelkiss crossbody purse which lay draped over the chair.

"What happened after you stopped resisting?" Frank urged, his hands drifting towards Nancy's lap and settling there. Megan noticed the gesture but said nothing.

"He hit me over the head with something sharp," she continued, wincing, and as if the very recollection of the memory itself had caused her head to hurt, Megan felt her hand instinctively wander of its own accord towards the back of her skull.

It hurt.

"I woke up in that old barn that he took you guys to. He—he was gone by the time I woke up a—and I don't know how I managed to get out, b—but I did. I'm glad I ran into Ned and Eve and her friend after I crashed my car. I—if they hadn't, no one would have found me, and then who knows what might have happened to me." Her lower lip quivered, and Nancy could tell she was on the verge of a breakdown. She shot a silent glance towards Frank and gave a curt nod of her head.

"Thank you for telling me what happened," Nancy said in what she hoped was a soothing tone. "You can always talk to me, Megan. You know that. Now, or later."

Megan smiled and gave a curt nod. "Thanks," she sniffed. "I'll keep that in mind." But Nancy knew by the look in the young blonde's bright blue eyes.

There wasn't going to be a next time. Megan wanted just as much as Nancy to try to forget these last four days had ever happened. They'd all been through so much. They were done here.

"I'm so sorry," Nancy soothed, reaching out a gentle hand and giving Megan a light pat on the shoulder. "No one should ever have to go through what you did."

Megan blearily lifted her chin, jutting out slightly defiantly to meet her gaze. "_You_ did," she pointed out rather bluntly, and Nancy flinched, blushing.

"Ah…well…that's—that's not what's important right now," Nancy stammered, immediately trying to steer the conversation towards a more pleasant direction.

Nancy didn't want to talk about what had happened to her. Not for a while.

Her father had already made her an appointment with a therapist to meet with her at their house sometime early next week, Carson had painstakingly told her.

She didn't really want to go through these sessions, but if there was the slightest chance that they would help her get to the bottom of what she was feeling… well, then she would do it. Nancy heaved a heavy sigh as she noticed Frank tap his watch out of the corner of her eyes, signaling it was time for them to be on their way back home. "I'm afraid we can't stay any longer, Megan, but don't be a stranger, 'kay?"

"Write to us from time to time, and if you ever make it back to River Heights, we'd love to show you the area," offered Frank, helping Nancy to her feet as they both made to stand. Nancy let out another exhausted sigh as she grabbed for her purse, making sure to pinch the bottom of it with her thumb and forefinger to prevent the contents from spilling out. Frank noticed this movement from her and stifled back his urge to grin, opting instead to merely roll his eyes in good humor.

Nancy chanced one last glance backward over her shoulder as she hovered in the doorway of Megan's hospital room, and the ghost of a smile graced the edges of her lips. Megan was already fast asleep, the little white stuffed teddy Nancy had brought her as a Get-Well gift currently clutched in a tight vice grip in her clutches, a tiny smile on her face as her head rested against the pillow. Somehow, Nancy knew.

Megan was going to be okay. And so was she…


	23. The Beginning of Something New

**Eight Months Later**

Nancy knew she was walking unusually slowly, as if her brain was struggling to tell each foot to take the next step, as if she was in a stupor, like she'd felt when she looked into Todd Baines' one good eye and saw nothing there. No emotions, no warmth. Just a vast empty coldness of nothing. She wracked her brain as she walked, trying to will her brain to forget the details when it simply wouldn't. Even eight months later, it still haunted her.

As newly chilled air moved the clouds, she let her eyes rest for a moment, feeling the ambiance of the street, hearing the sounds. The air around her was so cold, yet the trees were on fire. She smiled to herself at the inferno above her head. Frank had gone on to run an errand, though he wouldn't tell her what kind or where he was going, which raised a few red flags, though she liked to think she knew Frank more than well enough by this point. So, she trusted him when he said he wouldn't be long and that he'd meet her at the movie theater following her appointment, where following that, he wanted to take her out for a pizza and ice cream afterwards.

Nancy continued her walk to the plaza and tried to ignore the stares of several interested men as they eyed her figure in her brand new wrap maxi dress, the way the wind had that special way of tousling her fiery red locks into gentle loose waves about her shoulders. Her gait faltered when something huge and red smashed into the pavement a few feet in front of her and exploded. Nancy barely avoided being splattered in watermelon gunk.

Angrily, she tossed her fiery red waves over her shoulders, her hands on her hips and glanced upward, craning her neck to find herself staring at two adolescent boys, who were leaning out of an upstairs window at their apartment complex, laughing at the remains of the watermelon, and seemingly, at having almost hit the pretty redhead lady way down below.

They'd tossed the melon overboard and proceeded to shoot at it with Nerf guns, barely managing to miss the front edge of her new rose gold sandals and spattering her brand new purse with watermelon junk. Though her bag could for that matter also withstand probably getting messed up with pieces of melon, she didn't want to risk it.

It was one of the few things Hannah had given her the day she and Carson arrived home and Hannah had witnessed Nancy near tears and about to have a nervous breakdown, and had taken her shopping as a result to calm her down after a good cup of tea. It was a small dark brown leather purse the color of an espresso coffee, different than the kind she usually carried, but cute and feminine so Nancy accepted it.

With all its pockets and zippers, the perfect size for Nancy to replace the one she'd allowed to get ruined by tree branches in the woods of Casston, and then later her puppy Togo had gotten hold of the rest and had promptly torn the thing to shreds.

"Hey!" Nancy hollered, visibly cringing as she felt her father's temper begin to swell within the pits of her stomach. "Why don't you watch where you're pointing those? Someone could really get hurt! You want to shoot each other in the streets, then why don't you head on over to Lebanon?" she snapped, her crankiness manifesting.

It always reared its ugly head whenever she was angry or afraid, which was increasingly frequent these days, Nancy was ashamed to admit.

The young eighteen-year-old hopped over the spattered melon remains on the sidewalk, careful not to step in it. Her rose gold sandals were new and so help those kids if one shred of melon got on them and ruined them, Bess would be royally ticked at her and wouldn't forgive her for a _long_ time.

On any other July early evening, Nancy would have smiled at the couples filling the sidewalk of the downtown River Heights plaza, where Frank had told her to meet him. She would have seen her future reflected in them, her hand being touched gently by a man who adored her and a shy smile playing on her lips. But not tonight.

Tonight, she tugged at the new dress both Bess and the Maurice's store assistant, a cute girl named Kelly, had sworn had looked _so_ flattering when she'd tried it on. Now, Nancy wondered if Frank would think it was too much.

With each tug she gave, the front went lower, and so she stopped, her face flushing in embarrassment at the few interested glances from men her age shot Nancy's way. Nancy let out a heavy sigh and glanced down at her new outfit, thinking it was entirely too much for a first 'official' date with Frank, but Bess had insisted. With no time to catch the next bus to change, given she'd chosen to walk instead of taking her car, the young detective knew she was just going to have to wing it.

"Ugh. This is what I get for allowing myself to be Bess's mannequin," she sighed, glancing at her reflection in a nearby mirror of a clothing boutique's shop window. Her new dress was an indigo floral blue maxi wrap dress with flouncy short sleeves, patterned with tiny flowers on the bodice, and a knotted tie at the waistline and a femme flowy high-low bottom hem, the very epitome of femininity, and quite honestly, the last thing Nancy would have chosen to dress herself even, but even she had to admit, Bess had good taste.

The outfit looked good on her. Nancy sighed again and glanced down at her feet, wiggling her toes in her new rose gold open toed sandals. She would have just preferred jeans and a nice top for a casual date to a movie and out for pizza afterward, but _no_, Bess just _had_ to dress her up to look nice for Frank.

Nancy frowned. She knew better than most that Frank could care less what she wore, but Bess refused to let her leave the store until they found the perfect outfit. The detective let out a heavy sigh, checking her phone for messages before plunking it back into her bag that she wore slung over her body since it was a crossbody, the one item Nancy refused to let Bess have any control over whatsoever, despite Bess's insistence the new purse her housekeeper had picked out for her was cute. Hannah, Carson's housekeeper and old friend, found it for her while out browsing the Saturday morning farmer's market to replace the one that had gotten eaten by Casston's woods and then later, Togo had gotten into the rest and had torn the thing to shreds.

It wasn't anything special, really, though Nancy liked the embroidered patterned owl on the front of her new purse, and Hannah had told her owls were the symbol of wisdom, which she appreciated her efforts to make her feel better.

She accepted the gift graciously, and promised to take good care of it, knowing it would take a lot more than a few unruly tree branches and wood brush or her little bulldog puppy to put a hole into her new bag. She would make sure of it, especially given it was a gift from Hannah. The dark brown color would go with most of the outfits in her closet, and with plenty of zippers and pockets for all her things, and a key-ring clip on the outside let her clip a mini hand sanitizer and mini flashlight to her bag.

Hannah had given her a cute little blue and pink owl keychain off one of her own Sakroots bags that gave the bag a little pop of color and a feminine vibe, so that helped. . Nancy glanced at her reflection and sighed. Her fiery red hair had been gathered into a loose bun, allowing for a few tendrils to escape and frame her face, the bun at the base of her neck fastened together with a blue flower clip, courtesy also, of Bess, and her makeup.

She waited on the bridge that overlooked the canal, away from the noise. Nancy had been especially jumpy lately, more prone to frequent nightmares. Almost every night since their return to River Heights, she dreamed of Baines' face. How there had been nothing there, expressionless. Faceless.

One night, she'd woken up in hysterics and it had taken Carson and Hannah both to calm her down and coax her out of her closet where she'd taken refuge, feeling confident that Todd had escaped the sanitarium where he was undoubtedly going to spend the rest of his life imprisoned.

Given that Frank was still a few minutes late, Nancy decided to go for a walk, careful not to stray too far from the movie theater, heading towards the park. There was no one else in the park but an old gent who appeared to be reading a newspaper. Nancy paused at the gate, the greenery was already charcoal and two dimensional and the gray path was melting into the night. She shivered.

It sure was cold; now that jacket Hannah had tried to force on her didn't seem like such a bad idea. Across the park cut ten minutes off her trip towards the movie theaters, to safety, where hopefully, Frank was waiting for her at the front of the movie theater, more if she ran.

_But that man, just sitting there, how does he even see the print?_ She resolved to walk quickly, her rose gold sandals moving quietly over the tarmac until she stepped on a twig or dried leaf left over from the fall. She didn't want to stare but her eyes kept flicking to the man, so still, so decrepit.

Now that she was closer his attire was discernible from the darkening gloom. As she approached, she locked her gaze dead ahead, but once she reached his bench, he was gone. Nancy felt a cold chill travel down her spine as his gaze, hidden behind a pair of black sunglasses, met her gaze, and she hated not being able to read the emotions in the man's eyes, given they remained hidden. She liked to be able to tell what a person might be thinking or feeling at all times. Call her paranoid, but there was no changing that little quirk about the young sleuth.

The young woman felt her fingers curl instinctively, almost protectively so over her purse. The last thing she needed right now was to get robbed in the park in the evening, which, by all accounts and purposes, would be easy enough for this man to do, she supposed, given Frank hadn't met her yet.

She didn't know why that man had seemingly taken an interest in her, or what he was doing here, but the fact that he'd managed to give her the slip unnerved her. Nancy swallowed past the lump forming in her throat and glanced around. _No sign of him_, she thought, heaving a dejected sigh. Still, she could not shake the feeling of unease and that brief shadow of doubt that pricked at her heart. Like something was wrong.

Deciding she needed a distraction, Nancy sauntered over towards the old bridge that connected the park with the downtown shopping plaza. The lake-side air was pungent with the fragrance of jasmine. This was no natural basin filled with melt water, but the luxury addition to a formal garden by an earl with both copious leisure time and money. The man who had built the park's garden was something of an eccentric businessman.

On his death he bequeathed it to a charity to run for their benefit. For a small fee tourists and locals alike could escape the traffic and the frenetic movement of people. Nancy stepped closer to the edge and crouched down. From six feet up the surface was an opaque green, but from just two it was clear enough to see the plants and life below the surface. She had expected the highly colored Japanese Koi Carp and she wasn't disappointed, if anything Nancy was impressed.

They were huge and numerous, each about as long as her arm. Nancy gazed across the wind-ruffed surface to the lily pads in bloom, their white or magenta petals catching the breeze. She inhaled slowly. Peace. Her own little piece of heaven in small-town urban River Heights.

It was worth it coming here many times over. Worth the annual membership fee.

She glanced around at the several hundreds of initials and poorly drawn hearts etched into the old bridge's woodwork. Dubbed the Kissing Bridge by the high school and college kids of River Heights, it had a reputation. Nancy furrowed her brow into a frown at some of the names.

A few she recognized, but most…she didn't, and briefly, she wondered what would happen if she were to carve her and Frank's initials into the wood, a permanent addition to the bridge.

Though it was no secret in a town the size of River Heights, almost everyone knew who Nancy was.

And now that she had been officially dating Frank for a solid eight months, well…everyone knew who he was too. Nancy continued her leisurely stroll through the bridge, almost at a snail's pace, glancing around at all the names.

This was it, where her actions had led her. For better or worse, she was here now, waiting on Frank Hardy, who was going on around two minutes late, but then again, considering how many times she'd been late for a date with Ned, she let it go.

It was in this moment that she knew she loved Frank. Like _really_, genuinely loved him. It was a strange feeling, foreign to her, one she knew she'd never experienced with Ned, not once. They'd been dating almost nine months now, but with Frank, it felt natural. Like she didn't have to try or hide or alter any aspect of her personality.

He loved all of her, exactly the way she was. She couldn't ask for anything more than that, really. Nancy furrowed her brow into a light frown as she thought of Maine. She didn't want to go back to that horrible place in her mind, where bad things and memories dwelled.

But sooner or later, she'd have to go back. She was tired of running away. Nancy knew that tragedies, especially shared traumas, were a finicky thing. Some bound others to a place, while others drove them away.

But she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that hers and Frank's were unique, something shared for them. Just them, and them alone.

Which, in its own twisted kind of way, she supposed, was kind of romantic. She scoffed, rolling her eyes and made to turn away when a man's voice caught her from behind, a familiar voice. "Looking for these?" he asked, and Nancy felt a genuine, happy smile creep onto the corners of her mouth, stretching wide into a white smile.

She turned around to find herself face-to-face with Frank, who had seemingly been watching her, looking effortlessly handsome in jeans and a black and red plaid shirt, his arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the bridge's railing for support. "For what?" she asked, feigning innocence.

Frank smirked in that classic Hardy way that didn't reveal his teeth. He merely gestured toward the spot where he stood. "For these…" He unfolded his arms and knelt towards the bottom of the bridge, pointing near the railing. "I took the liberty of adding our forever names. Or at least…I hope so. Take a look."

Nancy knelt at his level, having to shift her purse to the other side of her body so it wasn't in her way. She inhaled a sharp breath that pained her lungs. Her ribcage, even after all this time, sometimes still screamed and ached whenever the weather would change, or when she'd have a nightmare. Her gaze slowly drifted toward where Frank was pointing. "Frank…" she whispered hoarsely. Her smile grew even wider. Etched into the wood with careful precision were their initials.** F.H and N.D**.

He grinned, running his hand through his dark hair and offered a sheepish smile. "I wasn't sure which uh…initial to put for you, you know, so I figured…"

But his grin faltered as Nancy swiped his pocketknife out of his left jeans pocket where she knew he'd always kept it safe and carved something beneath it. "You just got one thing wrong, Hardy," she joked, working carefully to carve her intended message into the wood, feeling very much like a vandal but then again, countless other couples before her had done this so it was fine, she guessed. She pushed aside thoughts of vandalism aside. "There," she breathed, standing and wincing at the pain in her ribcage that sent a flare up her spine. Frank was at her side, a hand around her waist before she even registered it had happened. "Now it's perfect," she replied.

Frank squinted his eyes and had to kneel again, and Nancy let out a little shiver of pleasure as he moved to see what she'd written underneath his handiwork as his hand trailed from her waist and wrapped around her leg. Nancy smiled wryly as she heard his own sharp intake of breath as he looked at what she'd written. Underneath Frank's attempt, she had written her own. **F.H. and N.H **in a huge heart. She'd have a few splinters to pull out later, but they were worth it.

"Someday that'll be you and me, when we're ready for it. Few more years. I _know_," Nancy added, before he could open his mouth to protest, "Please don't doubt my convictions, Frank. I know what I want. You," she whispered. "Just you. I have for a while now," she whispered quietly as he stood to stand next to her, seeing the stupefied expression on his face, his hand having automatically found its place at her waist. "And now that it's officially on the Kissing Bridge for the rest of time, now you _have_ to kiss me." She smiled and folded her arms across her chest, not expecting nor anticipating that Frank would do it. Warm lips pressed against hers.

Nancy's eyes widened and it took approximately one point three seconds to realize Frank was kidding her and a further three point eight seconds to realize that she's kissing him back. She didn't think he would really kiss her here, on the Kissing Bridge. But he did. _Was_. Her eyes fluttered shut and, in the darkness, she saw light exploding. His lips were chapped, and her bones are aching and she can taste the metallic tang of blood, having bit her tongue in surprise at the sudden movement from Frank to kiss her, but she didn't care because all she can focus on was the liquid warmth that is quickly spreading through her body.

He pulled apart first, and Nancy was surprised to see a pained look in his eyes. Frank cringed. "Was I really that obvious?" he asked, sounding hurt.

"No, no," she corrected quickly, "it's just that…I might have um…overheard you talking to Joe and your mom about it last week when I came over for dinner." She stuck out her bottom lip in a slight pout and bit it in hesitation as the smile on Frank's face faltered and he grew solemn as he looked at her. "You mad at me, Frank?"

Frank looked as though Nancy had slapped her. He looked quite flustered, and the expression on his face would have been comical if the subject matter weren't so serious.

"How…" he stammered, seeming to need a moment to find his words. "How could I _ever_ be mad at you, Nance? But…" He hesitated, turning away from her and leaning his arms on the bridge's railing. "Are you…are you sure?" he asked.

"Positive. I've known for a while now, Frank, so don't worry about it. You and I know better than most. We're old souls. Besides," she grinned, hoping to ease the weight of whatever burden he was carrying on his shoulders, "we have a movie to catch, Hardy. We don't want to be late for that, do we? You've been talking about seeing this movie for the last four weeks!" she answered immediately without even having to think on her answer. She let out a sigh and moved to stand next to him, resting her chin in her hands as her elbows supported her weight as she too leaned against the bridge rail.

Frank smiled, though Nancy could tell he was waiting for her to elaborate. Nancy decided now was as good a time as any to speak her mind, for quiet moments like this one in their line of work were rare and kind of hard to come by.

"You asked me a while ago to try to share my feelings about you, Frank. Falling in love with you was the easy part; it's admitting to myself that it happened that's hard. I've had these defenses for so long and you didn't even notice them. I guess…they were meant for other people and you had your own door all along. I could ask why, but what's the point? You're here and I'm glad, even if I'm sometimes imagining a distance between the two of us...instead of seeing you right there."

She swallowed hard to quell the frog forming in her throat. It was rare for her to speak her mind, but Nancy found that when she was around Frank, she didn't even have to try, so she said as much, hoping to ease the burden he carried on himself. "You're one of the coolest guys I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. And now dating," she added, a coy little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You don't even have to try, Hardy, it's surreal," she joked, and he smiled at that.

"I try really hard for you, actually," he confessed sheepishly, reaching up a hand and moved to brush back a lock of red hair that had fallen from her bun out of her eyes. Frank hesitated. "I just want to know…who you want to be with, Nan."

She cringed. She knew he was still thinking of Ned, even after all this time. The two men's friendship hadn't been the same since Nancy had chosen Frank over Ned.

Not that she expected things to go back to normal but…in truth, she didn't really know what she expected, but in the eight months of dating Frank, she'd seen Ned exactly two times, once in the grocery store and the other around town when he'd come home during a holiday break since he didn't have any classes, and both times had hurried to avoid Ned as fast as possible.

She'd learned from none other than Bess that Ned was seemingly now in a long-distance relationship with none other than Megan Grunhild, which at first, Nancy had been utterly surprised by, but the more she thought about it, it wasn't all that surprising to her really. As long as Ned was happy.

She knew _she_ certainly was with Frank. Nancy would have liked to think that they all could have been friends, but it just wasn't possible. Not for her, and certainly not for Frank, though he would never come outright and admit it, the gentleman that he was. They avoided each other.

_Maybe that's for the best_, she thought sadly and let out a tiny tired sigh.

"I'm right here where I'm standing, Frank," she murmured, feeling the heat creep to her cheeks as she blushed and glanced down at her sandals, kicking a pebble into the canal with the edge of her toe. "I'm not anywhere else. I promise…"

"We're stuck with each other, Drew," Frank promised, pulling her close.

"Always." Nancy tucked back a wisp of red hair back behind her ear and glanced up at Frank. She didn't bother hiding the smile that crept onto her face. "But…please," she begged. "When the time comes, let me help pick it out, won't you? Don't take Joe," she giggled, thinking of the horrible shenanigans Joe could get Frank into if the younger Hardy brother ever took Frank shopping for a ring someday. "Let me come. Or take Dad. I think he'd like to help you pick. Or your dad, maybe…" She tapped her chin, playfully lost in thought, though she knew Frank was dead serious. "Frank?" she asked, noticing he was looking strangely pale.

"I sort of…already picked it out. That's where I went today for my errand," he confessed, his face reddening the more he talked about it. Nancy thought it was adorable. "But I haven't bought it yet. But don't worry it's not that expensive, it's only like a hundred bucks," he stammered, noticing Nancy's face flush. "It's—it's at Kay's, a—and I haven't showed it to you yet because I know it's only been eight months, but I feel like it's been longer when I...when I'm with you."

"It has," she agreed, nodding her head. She was relieved to hear that Frank felt the same way. "Why didn't you tell me, Frank?"

He shrugged his shoulders, looking surprised. "You never asked," he answered simply, to which Nancy had no argument. She couldn't really argue with that logic.

Nancy clung to his shirt, her fingers curling into fists around clumps of his shirt. "What's it like?" she pleaded, biting her bottom lip in a slight pout. "Did you ask Bess for advice? Do I at least get to see a picture of what it looks like?" she asked, suddenly growing suspicious at how relaxed he looked.

If she had thought Frank Hardy was white before, it was nothing compared to how he looked now as his girlfriend prodded him for details on what he was planning. Well, daydreaming about, more like.

But...they were still so young, and he wanted to do it the proper way, which for him, meant a few more years. He wanted to wait until Nancy was a little bit older, though they both knew the other was not going anywhere without the other anytime soon. But still. He knew they needed to wait.

Nancy furrowed her brow into a slight, teasing frown as she bit her bottom lip in a playful pout. "C'mon, Frank,' she pleaded. "Show me? _Please_?" she teased. If he'd dragged Bess along to get ideas, there's no telling what she would have picked. It was no secret among their group that Bess's tastes were vastly different than Nancy's, and for a moment, Nancy found herself afraid he'd done just that.

"No way, Drew," he answered quickly, turning away from her, seemingly embarrassed to look her in the eyes. "Not till I'm ready to ask," he joked, but just as soon as his own playful grin had emerged, it vanished to be replaced with his usual somber look. "I just…didn't want to scare you away with this, Nance. I know most would consider us way too young to start thinking about...that," he emphasized. "But...all my life I've been afraid, Nance. Afraid of people rejecting me when they find out what I do for a living, and even if they didn't, then still losing them."

Frank let out a sigh and turned back towards her to look her in the eye. "But when I was faced with the idea of losing you forever, when Todd...took you," he answered with some hesitancy, and even he winced as he watched Nancy flinch at Todd's mention.

Nancy said nothing, waiting for him to speak. She knew he needed to say whatever was on his mind. She nodded mutely, showing him she was listening.

Frank swallowed and continued. "It made me realize there's one thing I would regret more than anything else in this life, and that's me not telling you the truth about how I feel about you, Nancy Drew," he said, his voice growing stronger as he seemed to find his resolve. Nancy drew in a breath and held it. "I can't help it. I know the odds are stacked against us and we'd be risking everything. In some ways, you could say we already are, but there's no one else I'd rather take that leap with, Nan."

"I know," she whispered, barely feeling as she painfully twisted her hands together, weaving her fingers nervously in between her knuckles. "I feel the same way, Frank." Nancy sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat and she pouted, knowing her side of the argument was fruitless and he wasn't going to let her see what he had picked out for her, when the time came for him to think about asking. "I understand, Frank. But…I'd like to see it. When—when you're ready, and not a moment before," she answered, thinking that, given they'd been dating not even a full year and they were still quite young, it'd be a few more years.

Frank gave a curt nod, signaling he understood. "When the time is right," he promised her. For Frank, however, that could be tomorrow, or in the next five years.

Nancy kind of hoped to date him for a few more years before they progressed to the next stage. Which, eventually, maybe this summer now that she had Jessica's 'thank you' payment in her bank account, she would move out, into an apartment.

She didn't want or need a whole lot of space, given how often she traveled. Besides, her dad would undoubtedly like to have the house back to himself, and Hannah would love having the extra space. She made a mental note to revisit that as an option later, after their movie. Maybe Frank would even move in with her in a few more months. After they'd been dating at least a year. She was insistent on that. Nancy knew you could only ever truly get to know a person over time.

It was when you were comfortable together and real, when you talk in that way that best friends do, that things were right. Just as she and Frank talked every single day, but it was so much more than that. She was able to relax around Frank, and somehow, she knew that whenever she was with Frank, it was all going to be okay in the end.

The young woman chanced a glance at her boyfriend out of the corner of her eyes as he wordlessly took her hand in his and steered her back towards the plaza where the movie theater and all the shops were. There was so much in Frank Hardy's silence, so much that he wouldn't say.

Nancy could tell just by his expression there was a lot going on in that mind of his, but she knew better than to ask, because if she did, he would just say he was thinking of how pretty she was. And it would be the truth. He noticed her staring and flashed her that smile that he knew and everyone else who knew the couple well enough by this point that Nancy Drew couldn't resist.

Whenever he smiled at her, Nancy felt safe with Frank. Protected, even if he did keep his secrets. In time, just like with everything else, she knew he would share them. Loving Frank didn't give her the right to know every single one of his pains and doubts and fears, to rummage through the wreckage of his thoughts. Some scars, and Nancy knew this better than most, were invisible.

The detective knew Frank carried his share. Without a word, she slipped her hand into his and they wound through the plaza towards the movie theater.

Just the two of them, happy, connected. Together. As it should have been.

Before Frank could drag them into the theater, some creature movie was playing that he'd been waiting months to see and Frank was fortunate enough that Nancy also happened to be a fan of these types of movies as well and in fact encouraged such viewings, she stopped him. "Wait," she pleaded. He paused, turning and regarding her in silence, confused. Nancy reached up and traced his bottom lip with the tip of her finger. Nancy had a strange urge to bite it, to kiss it, to say skip the movie and pizza afterward and just go somewhere and hide, just the two of them, watch the stars in the night sky in the park.

His lip felt kind of chapped under her feather light touches, but Nancy could not bring herself to care. She gazed so intently at each divot of that lip, as if Frank's lip could map out ancient seas and their future life plans together and tell her everything she didn't know. And Nancy found that she didn't want to look up. Because the detective knew that if she looked up, she would find herself at the mercy of questioning eyes, pleading, begging to know what the hell she was doing.

Nancy wasn't at liberty to say, because she simply did not know herself. The only thing she did know was that Frank Hardy had, perhaps without meaning to in the moment, had seduced her senses and she could no longer think straight or rationally.

She lifted her gaze slightly to look into Frank's eyes and just that was enough.

His lips met hers gently. His lips were warm and tasted slightly of mint, he'd obviously been chewing gum earlier. Frank's hands drifted downward coming to rest and grip almost painfully tight on her waist, hers locked Frank's neck, pulling him down slightly. When they broke apart for air, Nancy rested her forehead against his and gathered some much-needed oxygen. Frank's smirk told her everything, and Nancy smiled back, sinking into his hold.

"Now what, Frank?" she whispered.

Frank took a step back slightly to reach into his jeans pocket. "Well, Nan, I think I promised you that date eventually, didn't I? I'm just sorry it took me eight months to plan it, but I promise you, it's going to be worth the wait, Nance. I swear it!" he teased excitedly, showing the movie tickets. "Shall we?" he asked, holding the door open for Nancy, who smiled and followed him, unaware that someone was watching their every move, or more particularly...Nancy's….

* * *

The man sat seated in a coffee shop just across the window, the expression on his face behind his black aviator sunglasses that hid most of the features of his face was currently one of disgust, as though he'd been forced to endure something unpleasant.

And for those that were nearby him, he had. He'd watched the troublesome prickly detective and her little boyfriend for quite a while now. A few months.

Their first date had been cracking sidewalks and watery sunshine that struggled past the clouds. Over Dairy Queen blizzards, Nancy Drew and Frank Hardy had made several loops of their block. How many, neither of them could quite recall.

But he could. He'd watched. Ten loops. On the first few circuits, the talk had been shy, though he knew better than most how familiar these two were with each other, though they seemed to go through the motions, almost becoming familiar with one another and then each of them backing away, especially the redhead.

It was as if she was seemingly afraid of commitment. The man snorted. He knew she'd picked an appropriate life partner, for that's what the Hardy fellow was to her. Another few circuits of that first date and they knew more about one another than many members of their own family, their fingers entwined in a loose grip.

On the final loop around, Frank had pulled Nancy Drew close into a kiss that stopped all her anxious thoughts about their new relationship dead in their tracks. The two of them both knew in that instant they'd found their other half and that fate had dealt them a dangerous hand.

But if only they knew just how much…

His gaze was unwavering and unabashed. Those dark cold eyes behind black sunglasses did not travel up to her face or down to her sandals, but they followed her as if really focusing on something a couple of feet further away.

Perhaps his introspective nature leads him to be locked in thought as he observed, it was hard to know. But he made no gesture of recognition, no raised hand or stiff nod.

She quickened her pace to the front door of the River Heights movie theater and melted into the Friday night crowd of people arriving for entertainment. He sneered as the Hardy boy quickly followed suit, and the door swung shut behind them. The man watching let out a heavy sigh and pulled out his phone.

The boss, at least, was going to be pleased to hear this news, after months of searching for this seemingly harmless girl who had, at least according to his employer's words, ruined his life several times over. After months, almost going on a year of searching now, they had found her.

"About damn time," the stranger grumbled, still staring across the street at the movies.

The mysterious man, who was something of a watchman, slumped against his seat. It was cold but less so than back home. His eyes followed the puffs of his breath as the sun faded and dipped below the horizon and the temperature grew cooler.

A few years ago, he thinks it was five now, but he was kind of starting to lose track, he had been hired by his boss and not once had he laid eyes on him, except for the one time, who told him he had a job to do. In the past, cars with blackened windows approached with drivers he knew, no new guys unless he received a file on them.

So, this last time, when a new car had approached with a new face in the windshield and who wordlessly handed him a thick file on this Nancy Drew girl, his heart rate had soared to an almost sickening rhythm and bile washed up his nicotine layered throat. This was what he collected the generous checks for. Years of boredom possibly leading to a sticky end. But in the end, what better choice did he have? The boss had saved his skin, more than once, and for that he owed him, and if he wanted him to find this Nancy Drew character, who the boss man seemed to hate so much, with every fiber of his being, then who was he to argue?

His assignment was quite simple, really. Find the girl. Call the Boss. Report back to him, and he'd take care of the rest.

"Take care of the rest he says," he growled, scowling and feeling his brow furrow into a deep frown that created lines on his already lined forehead and a groove near his mouth. "More like I'll do all the work while the boss sits pretty, and for what? To get revenge over this...this _teenager_? Boss Man must be nuts after all that time in the slammer," he spat, disgusted, shaking his head in disgust at the turn of events his life had taken. The man grumbled to himself as he dug into his coat pocket for his phone and flipped it open, dialing the boss's number. A throwaway cheap thing.

The boss answered on the fourth ring. "Tell me the good news," he breathed out raspy, a voice that made the watchman, whose name was Ken, cringe. Like nails on a chalkboard, brought on by years of smoking or something, he had to guess. Not that he really cared one way or another what his employer sounded like. As long as he got paid. "Tell me you found her. This better not be another false alarm, Ken. If it isn't her…, and this is just another mistake on your end, there's going to be hell to pay. You know not to fail me..." The note of desperation in his voice was clear. Though not greater than the anger. His tone was clipped and hard, and Ken found himself afraid even on just a phone call, when his boss was probably miles away on the other side of town. Ken scowled and stifled a growl of frustration as he looked down at his hand, at the white and red jagged lines of the scar on the front of his hand. His constant 'reminder' of his last 'mistake' at failing to recognize the Drew girl.

_If he's even here yet_, he thought darkly. He quickly shot back the dark swirling vortex of bad thoughts that were swimming around in his mind and shoved aside such thinking with an irritable wave of his hand, though he knew his boss couldn't see it. "Yes, boss," he breathed into the phone, and he could almost hear the audible sigh of relief coming from the other man's voice on the other end of the receiver.

"Are you sure?" he demanded, suddenly sounding irate. "There can be no mistakes, Ken!" His voice had risen an octave and now sounded slightly suspicious.

"Trust me, boss. She's here in River Heights. I saw her just now. We got her…" Ken could not stop the smirk from forming on his face as he promptly ended the call before his employer could so much as bark another unkind order at him, flipping the phone shut closed, stuffing it in his coat pocket, burying his hands in his pockets for warmth, and whistling an impressive tune to himself as he strode away from the little cafe and the movie theaters, where he'd sat outside waiting for three hours.

At last, they had her...

Nancy Drew's days were numbered. The girl was as good as dead…

* * *

**Author's Note**: **And that's a wrap for _Nancy Drew the Curse of Black Lake_. I hope you have enjoyed this alternate universe where everyone in Nancy's world survived this latest adventure! At least all the main characters anyways, and Nancy's friends. Stay turned for Nancy's next adventure which I will be posting the first chapter of her sequel on Saturday: _Nancy Drew and the Mystery of the Silent Visitor_. It's totally not my best title ever, but I'm not good at coming up with creative titles. In fact, if anyone has a better title in mind, feel free to shoot me a PM or put it in the comments below because I suck at titles and naming chapters. I think for future stories, I won't be naming my chapters lol! In _Silent Visitor_, which takes place in this same alternate universe with Ned out of the picture and are completely different from my other Nancy stories for the fandom that I've posted in times past, Nancy and Frank are adjusting to their new relationship and both are still reeling from the events that surrounded their last case and the dealings of Casston and Todd Baines, mass murderer of Maine. Seeking a quiet summer, Nancy gets more than she bargained for when asked to help clear the name of one of their friends, and she goes undercover in a job in a quaint little cafe as a waitress to help clear the friend's name, as well as to pass the time and supplement her income and save up money for a end-of-summer beach trip only to find more than she bargained for when she starts receiving threatening notes from an unidentified man who seems entirely too fast for her to catch, and well-timed accidents point towards the restaurant being a victim of sabotage...with Nancy as the suspected culprit.**

**Postings for that story will be twice a week, on Tuesday's and Saturday's. See you in _Silent Visitor_! :)**


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